


Never Leave Love Aside (It's All We've Got)

by 5ftjewishcactus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Cowboys & Outlaws, Crossover, Friends to Lovers, Good Omens Big Bang 2019, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Illness, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unhappy Ending, angels & demons, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22382254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5ftjewishcactus/pseuds/5ftjewishcactus
Summary: In the Spring and Summer of 1899, Crowley finds himself in America, seeing what the humans have gotten up to during the age of outlaws. After being commended for his job with the Blackwater Massacre in May 1898, he finds himself drawn to a member of the Van der Linde Gang. An outlaw by the name of Arthur Morgan. Following Arthur's various adventures, Crowley meets up with his sometimes friend/sometimes enemy Aziraphale, who he hasn't seen since their fight in St. James Park in 1862. Aziraphale is trying to help the success of the venture of a wildlife photographer from New York named Albert Mason. As Albert and Arthur continue to cross paths, Crowley and Aziraphale semi-unintentionally meddle.
Relationships: Albert Mason/Arthur Morgan, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> Written for the Good Omens Big Bang.  
> Beta'd by [mixermiz907](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixermiz907).  
> [Share on tumblr](https://5ftjewishcactus.tumblr.com/post/190458459103/title-never-leave-love-aside-its-all-weve-got).
> 
> While the primary focus is on Crowley and Aziraphale, there are a lot of details and spoilers for Red Dead Redemption 2. I wrote this as both a fun story for Crowley/Aziraphale set in the world of RDR2, but also as a love story to that world because it was a game that I really love and enjoy playing.

**September 1862**

_"I don't need you," Crowley said._

_"The feeling is mutual. Obviously," Aziraphale replied._

_"Obviously," Crowley mocked._

_Aziraphale flicked the paper into the pond. It burst into flames as it hit the water and Aziraphale stormed off._

Crowley stared at the burning piece of paper in the pond as Aziraphale's form disappeared. That had not gone the way Crowley had expected. Of course, it was risky asking anyone, especially an angel, for Holy Water. But Aziraphale's reaction was… entirely unexpected. He had expected Aziraphale to say no or argue with him to some degree. But his response being… to accuse Crowley of wanting it to use on himself, well that was ridiculous. If things went pear shaped, Crowley was going to go out kicking and shouting. But… having Holy Water would certainly help in that regards. And then the nerve of him to refer to their arrangement, their friendship even, as merely fraternization… Well, Crowley meant what he'd said. He didn't need Aziraphale.

**36 Years Later…**

**March 1898**

Thirty-six years to a demon was no time at all, really. It was only the advent of new technology and fashions that Crowley even really registered the changing of time. Thirty-six years hadn't been nearly enough time since he'd last spoken to Aziraphale. So if Crowley was still nursing some hurt feelings (not that he would admit that out loud, to anyone, ever) well, that was his own business. And if those hurt feelings meant that being in London was making Crowley feel restless, well… then perhaps it was time for a vacation.

It wasn't unusual for Crowley to travel around. He'd spent the better part of four thousand years traveling around. It was only due to Aziraphale's suggestion that he had resided in England for nearly three hundred years. He liked London. But even demons needed a vacation every few years. Besides, Crowley had heard talk in Hell about America. The wild, untamed land of outlaws and crooked business owners. It wasn't all wild, there were more civilized places, growing cities thanks to industrialization. Places like New York. Crowley traveled by ship from England to New York. He had his own stateroom and frequented the saloon, mingling with the rich upper class, as they swapped stories of their wealth and played card games to show it off. Crowley enjoyed his trip across the ocean.

Once in New York, Crowley rented a flat and set about enjoying his vacation. Hell sent him some temptations and other sinful tasks to achieve while he was there, but they were easy enough to manage. He spent a lovely two months in New York. Humans who could afford to live in the proper cities, the ones with money, were far too easy to manipulate. They already believed they were better than the lower class. Tempting them into action took nothing more than a mere suggestion from Crowley. It was a nice reprieve for him. And it was more proof that humans could be far crueler than Hell gave them credit for.

**May 1898**

Eventually, Crowley decided to move on. He heard talk about a small logging town in the state of West Elizabeth that was just booming as a cultural beacon and well that sounded exactly like something Crowley might enjoy. He left New York and headed for West Elizabeth, traveling by boat to the city of Blackwater. The cruelty of humanity showed itself once again, when Crowley, who had spent only a few days in Blackwater, received yet another commendation for his work with the Blackwater Massacre. A massacre he had absolutely nothing to do with.

Looking into the massacre itself, Crowley found that an outlaw gang, known simple as the Van der Linde Gang, named for their notorious leader Dutch Van der Linde, had robbed a ferry coming into the city of Blackwater. Several people were killed, including an unarmed young woman. It was the largest heist in recent history and had a significant death count. A few notable names from the heist stuck out from the gang, the leader, Dutch, and two of his known accomplices, Hosea Matthews and Arthur Morgan, as well as leaser known accomplices, Micah Bell and John Marston. Following the heist, the Van der Linde Gang had fled north, into the mountains to escape the law.

Crowley accepted his commendation, like he always did, and moved on. Headed Northwest towards Strawberry, his originally intended destination, only stopping occasionally to foment dissent and discord. Was fairly easy to do, given most of the small cities he stopped around. Ranchers and farmers dissatisfied with the oil companies and big cities industrializing everything. Once actually in Strawberry, which was not at all a cultural beacon, Crowley stuck around because he greatly enjoyed helping the Mayor convince the big city New Yorkers into traveling there. Watching the wealthy tourists show up to the small logging town filled Crowley with such glee. As it turned out, the mayor was much more eccentric than Crowley first realized and the man kept up the great pitch all on his own, giving speeches outside the Welcome Center to grumbling tourists and locals alike. Crowley was in his element.

It caused Crowley to hang around the small town for several months, well into the New Year. Even that had been quite the spectacle, as the mayor went about trying to have fireworks brought in from New York and Saint Denis. It was ill-advised to attempt a fireworks display in a small logging town, when the locals worried that the display would cause the very trees they were planning on cutting down to be burned in a fire, should the display go awry. The display went off without a hitch, though there were very few tourists or locals to watch it, as most had opted to go elsewhere or stay home. Crowley enjoyed it, toasting to the New Year from the balcony of the Welcome Center.

**February 1899**

With the New Year, Crowley grew bored and opted to head out again. He'd heard talk of the small livestock town of Valentine to the northeast and figured it was worth a look. It was during his travels there, that he heard talk of a train heist involving the Van der Linde Gang. Second time hearing of the same gang, intrigued Crowley into doing some snooping of his own. Sure enough, the gang were rumored to be staying nearby. So, Crowley decided staying in Valentine for a bit definitely had an appeal.

**March 1899**

Took less than a week for a few members of the gang to appear in town. A brawl broke out at the local saloon. Crowley had been enjoying a few drinks himself, when the fight broke out. He hadn't had to lift a finger. One man, apparently named Tommy, began fighting against one of the outlaws, one Arthur Morgan (Crowley recognized him from his Wanted posters in West Elizabeth.) For a moment, it seemed like Arthur might kill Tommy, when someone intervened and caused Arthur to stop.

The end of the fight also allowed for Dutch Van der Linde himself to appear, along with another of the gang's associates, Josiah Trelawney. Wanting some insight into the gang, Crowley eavesdropped on their conversation, something about another member of their gang back in Blackwater, being held by bounty hunters. Dutch was quick to give out instructions, sending a couple of the men to follow up on Mr. Trelawney's lead, as well as instructing Arthur to follow up once he'd cleaned himself up. After they'd parted ways again, Crowley contemplated heading back to Blackwater himself, but something about Arthur intrigued him. The fact that he'd stopped fighting, because someone had stepped in and asked him to. Seemed odd of a wanted outlaw with a $5,000 bounty on his head to give in so easily.

Crowley found himself drawn to the Van der Linde gang, to Arthur Morgan. Crowley hated traveling by horses, they were so uncomfortable and dirty. But… traveling by stage coach or carriage while trying to tag along with a notorious outlaw was far too inconspicuous. A couple days after the brawl in Valentine, Arthur began his trek back towards Blackwater. It was a slow trek, given the journey by horse and because Arthur kept stopping to help people along the way. The man had a penchant for helping people in need whenever he stumbled upon them. Even after a couple of the people asking for help had attempted to rob him. Arthur had merely shot them, looted them for what cash and items worth something before continuing on. If he hadn't seen him kill and rob people, Crowley would almost wonder if the man was an angel in disguise.

It also kept Crowley's interest piqued and so he kept following the man, wondering what good deed he would do next. They were nearly to Blackwater when something caused Arthur to stop. Usually Crowley could pick up the things Arthur did, someone calling out for help, a person on the road clearly in need of aid, or trapped beneath a dead or dying horse. Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering what in Satan's name had caused Arthur to stop this time. Turned out that Arthur clearly had inhuman hearing because he'd heard some man with a camera talking to himself within the woods near Rigg's Station.

Crowley found himself a place amongst the trees to hide, as he watched the exchange.

"Howdy, mister," Arthur said.

The man startled a moment. "Hello," he said, turning back to his camera. "Quite a day, isn't it?"

"Sure," Arthur replied.

"What a country," the man replied. "I'm working on a project… photography."

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, I guessed that bit."

The man chuckled. "Of course… Wildlife, that's my thing… or that's what I want to be my thing. If I have to take another picture of a grumpy hausfrau, or pompous middle class burgher I will feed myself to the lions." The man walked as he spoke, seemingly at random, until he motioned to a spot. "Stand here."

"Here?" Arthur asked, walking over after having checked out the man's photography equipment.

"Just…" the man said, guiding Arthur where to stand, "there. Albert Mason."

Arthur shook hands with Mr. Mason. "Arthur Morgan."

Crowley shook his head, just barely resisting the temptation to smack his head against the tree trunk in front of him.

"Oh for Hell's sake. You are a wanted outlaw. Stop telling random strangers your name," he muttered to himself.

"Pleasure," Mr. Mason replied to Arthur, as he walked back over to his camera. "I'm trying to find and capture images of our great predators before our greatest predators kill them all and stick them on some clubhouse wall."

"Good luck with that," Arthur and Crowley said at the same time.

"Yes, not the easiest but, well I love a challenge," Mr. Mason said, fiddling with his camera and snapping a photograph of Arthur.

"Oh good, a name and a photograph. What could possibly go wrong?" Crowley sneered, speaking to no one but himself.

"The trick," Mr. Mason continued, "is to leave a big load of meat and relax, and pray they don't mistake me for lunch."

As he spoke, a coyote snuck up on Mr. Mason's bag, which had been left sitting nearby. The coyote growled, as he snatched the bag.

"Oh! Good heavens. My bag, that thing is robbing me!" Mr. Mason exclaimed. "Go, good heavens!"

"Don't worry. That 'thing' is a coyote! A sneaky one too," Arthur replied, as he began chasing after the coyote. "'Wildlife' photographer."

"Serves him right," Crowley said, watching as the coyote ran off.

"For wanting to do good?" a familiar voice said.

Crowley scowled and shook his head. There was no way, no way in all of Hell that the very being he had left London to avoid was not only in America but in the same damned location as him. With a frown, Crowley looked around, until the owner of the voice appeared from his own cluster of nearby trees.

"Aziraphale," Crowley said, trying to sound unfazed though his frown remained.

"Crowley. Not surprised to find you gallivanting around with a wanted outlaw," Aziraphale replied.

"I'm not gallivanting. Besides, it's the wanted outlaw that's currently chasing the coyote to get the photographer's bag back. I don't know why he doesn't just shoot the thing," Crowley replied.

"He's honoring Mr. Mason's endeavor to protect the local wildlife."

Crowley made a face, muttering to himself. He looked at Aziraphale again and noted that he was dressed very similarly to how he'd been dressed the last time Crowley had seen him, sideburns and all. Crowley himself was still decked out in his preferred black suit and coat, though he'd traded the long black coat he'd worn throughout the winter for a shorter one, which had a hint of red along the collar. His black top hat had a red sash around it. He'd trimmed his hair and sideburns shorter before leaving Strawberry. Aziraphale was usually slower about adapting to newer fashions and he honestly didn't look too out of place from several of the people Crowley had mingled among back in New York and Blackwater.

Up a small hill from the forest clearing where Mr. Mason stood frantically waiting Arthur's return, Arthur could be heard shouting: "And coyote, don't think about coming back!"

Aziraphale smiled as Crowley shook his head. Arthur was a ridiculous man and Crowley was starting to question his own sanity about continuing to tag along with his misadventures. A few minutes passed before Arthur returned, carrying Mr. Mason's bag.

"Well, well, I got your bag," he said, as he neared Mr. Mason again.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, sir," Mr. Mason replied, as Arthur handed him the bag.

"Bag full of meat will tend to bring out the worst in the local population."

"You are a gentleman. The bag also has a lot of my supplies, you've saved me days. I'm… uh.. Can't thank you enough. I'm… I'm… Thank you."

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm a… You take care, sir."

"I ain't the one trying to get myself eaten."

"Yes, I realize I am a fool. Forgive me and thank you very much once again."

"Now, I didn't say that. Just… be careful yourself, Mr. Mason."

"Of course, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur nodded and headed towards his horse. Crowley looked towards Aziraphale who was smiling.

"What?" Crowley asked.

"Nothing. It seems you and Mr. Morgan have a lot in common."

Crowley frowned. "Me? Have anything in common with that… that… cowboy??"

Aziraphale nodded. "You're both kind. When you want to be."

"I'm not kind."

"You can be. On occasion."

Crowley grumbled. Arthur disappeared back through the trees and out of sight.

"I suppose you'll be following him," Aziraphale said.

"Perhaps. Why do you care?"

"No reason. Curious that both of us ended up here. Reminds me of West Essex."

Crowley fought back a smile. "Both of us here, canceling each other out. Though, I'm not really here on business."

"You're not? So the Blackwater Massacre? That wasn't you?" Aziraphale asked, as though surprised.

Crowley shook his head. "No, angel. That wasn't me. And from what I gather, it wasn't Mr. Morgan either. The rest of his gang though…"

Crowley shrugged. The information Crowley had combined with the information Arthur had amounted to a whole lot of nothing. Something had gone wrong on the ferry and no one really knew what, except perhaps Dutch and he wasn't one to open up about his great failing.

"Well, I suppose… that's good."

Mr. Mason was talking to himself again, while packing up his camera and bag of supplies.

"I had best be going. Don't want Mr. Mason's endeavor to be for not," Aziraphale said.

"No, wouldn't want that," Crowley replied, mostly sincere. "See you around, angel."

"See you, Crowley."

Aziraphale disappeared back into the trees where he'd come from, probably where he'd left his own horse. Crowley mounted his and headed in the direction he suspected Arthur had gone. He wasn't going to intervene in Arthur's business. Rescuing one of his gang's members from bounty hunters, seemed like enough… bad being put out into the world. Besides, Crowley had his own business in Blackwater to attend to. Which was finding the saloon and having several drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 Art
> 
> [Story Banner](https://www.deviantart.com/katy133/art/Never-Leave-Love-Aside-Banner-824447310) by [katy133](https://www.deviantart.com/katy133)  
> [Story Title](https://www.deviantart.com/katy133/art/Never-Leave-Love-Aside-Title-824447916) by [katy133](https://www.deviantart.com/katy133)  
> [Crowley and Aziraphale Meet Again](https://www.deviantart.com/katy133/art/A-Familiar-Voice-824448400) by [katy133](https://www.deviantart.com/katy133)


	2. Chapter 2

**March 1899**

Crowley stayed in Blackwater even after Arthur and those of his gang had left again after rescuing their captured member. He read all about it in the Blackwater Times. It wasn't great for the local law, a huge loss like that, unable to stop three outlaws from rescuing a fourth. Blackwater already wasn't doing well following the Massacre. Several hundred Pinkerton Agents and bounty hunters had taken up residents among the local population, in a bid to capture the Van der Linde Gang. Rumor had it that the money from the Ferry job had been left behind within the city, so the law was hoping eventually they'd be able to capture the gang when they came back for their score. What little Crowley had seen of Arthur and his fellow outlaws, he didn't think it likely that they would be coming back any time soon.

After a couple of days, Crowley took a ferry boat from Blackwater to Saint Denis. He'd heard interesting things about the city. Big city. Full of industrialization and plenty of people who saw themselves as better than the working class. Sounded like the perfect place for Crowley to mingle for a while. And hopefully far enough from West Elizabeth that he wouldn't risk running into Aziraphale again.

No, instead of Aziraphale, Crowley ran into another familiar face while having a drink on the boat's saloon. Josiah Trelawney. Wasn't really a surprise, given that what little about Mr. Trelawney that Crowley had gleaned from Arthur was that he wasn't much of a fighting man and more of a conman. Hence his flashy clothes (similar in style to Crowley's own) and his penchant for sleight of hand. He was a very clever pickpocket, easily nabbing a few bills here and there to help pay for his many drinks and fancy meals.

"I like you," Crowley said, sliding up to Mr. Trelawney one night at the bar.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" Mr. Trelawney asked.

"Name's Anthony Crowley."

Mr. Trelawney held out his hand and Crowley shook it. "Josiah Trelawney."

"I've been watching you." Crowley took a drink of his champagne and leaned in. "You are a thief."

Mr. Trelawney actually had the nerve to look offended. "I beg your pardon."

"Don't worry. I won't tell. Bit of a thief myself."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm a magician."

Crowley tsked. "I saw you. In Valentine." He took another drink of his champagne. "With Van der Linde."

It was Mr. Trelawney's turn to lean in. "You should be careful, Mr. Crowley, was it? If you know of my associates, then you know the type of people they are and what they would do to someone like you."

"Pfft." Crowley knew of Mr. Trelawney's associates. Knew that Arthur Morgan was more likely to help him than harm him. "I mean absolutely no harm. Only to say that I am a fan. Been watching you these last couple of days. You are a true master."

Crowley performed a miracle to pull a couple of bills from his jacket and signaled for the bartender.

"Another scotch and a…" he said, looking to Mr. Trelawney.

"Scotch, as well. Make it a double," Mr. Trelawney said.

"For my friend."

The bartender served their drinks and Crowley paid him.

"Cheers," Mr. Trelawney said, holding his glass out to Crowley.

"Cheers."

They clinked glasses together and drank.

"So, what brings you to Saint Denis, Mr. Crowley?" Mr. Trelawney asked.

"Holiday. And yourself?"

"Ah… business."

Crowley drank more from his miraculously refilled cup and nodded.

"Shall we find a more private are and maybe discuss more of this business?"

"Yes. That sounds perfect."

They found a quiet table tucked away in a corner of the ship's saloon. As soon as they'd sat down, Mr. Trelawney began explaining to Crowley his plan to swindle investors out of money, by claiming to be involved with a mining company. Crowley thought the whole plan was great. Mr. Trelawney was clearly a master of his craft. He understood why Van der Linde associated with him. He also had a gift for talking, as Crowley barely had to engage in the conversation, mainly listened and drank his never ending scotch while Mr. Trelawney talked.

"I'm thinking I'll take the operation to Rhodes. Many people there are struggling, have been struggling since the war. They'll buy into anything if they think it'll help them get ahead," Mr. Trelawney said.

"Especially those on the losing side," Crowley said, vaguely recalling details of the Civil War, knowing this far South, most of the people involved would've been on the losing side.

"Yes. Terrible business, that."

Crowley nodded in agreement. Wars, so called civil or otherwise, were usually Hell's business, in some fashion. Wars allowed for easy collection of human souls. Regardless of the side, no one came out of a war unsullied by Hell's influences.

Mr. Trelawney continued talking about his plans and Crowley listened and drank. Eventually, they parted ways as Mr. Trelawney retreated to his room to sleep. Crowley didn't need to sleep and while he did like to indulge in sleep from time to time, he stayed awake and walked the decks of the ship, the black expanse of night giving way to the black expansive of the water. Stars shown overhead, reflected in the water. Crowley stood on the deck and looked out and for a moment could pretend that things were different. That it was like… that it was before… that he wasn't the demon Crowley.

With the dawn came Saint Denis. Crowley exited the ferry and headed into town. Found La Bastille Saloon and rented a room. He slept for two days. His third day in Saint Denis, he went out to the tailor and purchased himself a nice new suit. It wasn't too different from what he'd worn before, but it was thinner for the Saint Denis heat. Still his usually black, with a hint of red at the tie. Being in Saint Denis was great. Perfect place for a demon to get up to some trouble.

Despite the grandiose air of La Bastille Saloon, the lovely all girls hanging out upstairs near the bedrooms and baths were a wonderful temptation to any gentleman staying a night or two. Crowley politely declined their offers for companionship and watched gleefully as other men gladly accepted. The men playing poker downstairs were charmingly greedy, winners bragging while the losers soured. And all of the fine people drinking their time away. Crowley's favorite was the lovely woman, ranting and raving to anyone within ear shot as she drank and smoked her afternoons and evenings away. Sometimes she'd accuse other patrons, usually men, of being the obnoxious drunks embarrassing themselves, while it was Mrs. Powell herself making a scene. Crowley's favorite pastime while at the saloon was commiserating with Lillian about the French. She didn't mind Crowley, called him "darling Englishman" and gladly gossiped with him about the latest French travesty.

Outside of the saloon were the finely dressed upper class of Saint Denis. Many like Mrs. Powell, parading around with their noses in the air as though the stench of industry and debauchery couldn't touch them through all of their wealth. The working class grumbled around Crowley, going about their days, wishing they were part of the upper class but grateful to not be begging in the streets. The jealousy and rage pouring off the beggars, blaming industry and the rich for all of their misfortune. Crowley had to do little more than nudge someone into the wrong person for the right sins to bloom. Yes, Crowley very much liked Saint Denis.

After a few more little demonic miracles, temptations and the like, Crowley found a section of flats for rent. Used a little miracle to secure himself one for however long he decided to stay. While he liked being in Saint Denis, liked all the misdeeds he could get up to, it was nice to have a place to go to get away from the humans. He was on holiday after all and he deserved to treat himself. The rooms at La Bastille Saloon were nice enough, but oh… the luxuries afforded to him in his rented flat. The grand bed alone, with its ornate wooden bed frame and fine sheets and blankets piled high, as well as the many decorative pillows. Not the type of bed Crowley would normally keep (his bed back home was more simplistic, high thread counts and thick comforter to keep out the London chill) but perfect for a demon on holiday. The blankets were thicker than necessary for the heat created by the Lemoyne swamps that surrounded Saint Denis. But Crowley's cold blooded nature appreciated them.

**April 1899**

For the next couple of weeks, Crowley contented himself with causing chaos within Saint Denis. He sent the occasional memos to Hell about his work. He deserved some credit while on holiday, since it was less of a holiday from work and more a holiday from London. It was a few days into Crowley's newest plan, involving a rigged poker game held above the gun shop, that Crowley received a commendation for his work in Saint Denis. Or so he thought.

"About time," Crowley grumbled, as he read through the commendation. Until the words "high death count" caught his attention. "What?"

He grabbed for the nearest newspaper at the café he'd decided to lunch at and found his answer in the headline. "Bloodshed in Strawberry" Crowley read the article with a frown which morphed into a scowl as he read that known Van der Linde associates Arthur Morgan and Micah Bell had gone on a killing spree within the town following the jailbreak of Bell.

"Micah Bell," Crowley grumbled.

Crowley knew very little of Micah Bell, only what little he'd gleaned from Arthur, who didn't have anything nice to say about the other man. Neither had Mr. Trelawney for that matter. Seemed the ferry job in Blackwater had been Micah's idea, despite others like Arthur having bad feelings about it. Crowley could see that, given how Arthur behaved when on his own. He couldn't imagine it had been his idea to shoot down half the town. Still, Crowley liked Strawberry. At least the mayor had survived, telling the newspaper that Strawberry would bounce back from the devastating events stronger than ever.

The rest of the day was spent drinking, while Crowley debated if he wanted to return to Strawberry and see how bad the damage was for himself. By the next morning he'd decided he would go back. Take the train instead of the boat. It would drop him at Wallace Station and from there he could take a horse to Strawberry. It wasn't ideal, but Crowley needed to see what had occurred in case Hell decided to follow up, since they deemed the whole affair Crowley's doing. Not that they'd ever checked up before, but well… better safe than sorry. He had been enjoying Saint Denis for all of the many carriages and trolley cars. Hadn't needed a horse once he'd left Blackwater. Crowley hated horses. He'd been hearing talk of a horseless carriage. He was hopeful. Progress tended to be better. While the 19th Century hadn't been great, it was still better than the 14th Century. Crowley hated the 14th Century.

The train ride from Saint Denis to Wallace Station was pleasant. Crowley had a couple of drinks in the bar car. Upon his arrival at Wallace Station, he was easily able to rent a horse from a nearby farm. He was about to head into Strawberry when he spotted one Arthur Morgan riding away from the direction of Strawberry. With no plan, Crowley hopped on his horse and followed after him. He couldn't exactly confront Arthur about what had happened in Strawberry. Probably would've been a better idea to head into town and talk to the mayor. But well… Crowley was intrigued by Arthur Morgan, with his whole kindness thing. Most outlaws, as far as Crowley knew from all he'd heard about them from the news and discussions in Hell, weren't the type to stop and help strangers. They were more likely to rob and kill them. (Luckily Crowley was liked enough in Hell that other demons didn't mind his meddling while on holiday.)

Again Arthur disappeared into a throng of trees. Crowley followed because he'd come this far. In the clear, standing with his back to Arthur was Mr. Mason. Focused on his camera again, muttering to himself.

"We're fine. As long as it doesn't pick up, we're fine," Mr. Mason muttered.

Crowley reached out with his demonic senses until he found the presence he was looking for and sure enough, Aziraphale was nearby, hidden behind a cluster of trees. As Arthur walked up to Mr. Mason, Crowley headed for Aziraphale.

"Hello again," Arthur said to Mr. Mason.

"Hello. Oh, hello! How are you, sir? Ah… Morgan, Mr. Morgan. I'm sorry my… my nerves. I'm not quite the outdoor adventurer I thought. This is God's own country, and I feel I'm in purgatory."

"I know the feelin'," Arthur said, continuing to speak to Mr. Mason.

"Oh I hope not."

"Still helping Mr. Mason, angel?" Crowley asked, leaning casually against one of the trees nearest Aziraphale.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale said, his whole being seemed to light up at the appearance of Crowley. "Still gallivanting with Mr. Morgan?"

"No, actually. Merely happened upon him on my way to Strawberry."

"Oh, don't tell me that was your doing?"

"No! I had other schemes going on there that definitely did not involve a town wide shooting spree."

"Oh. Oh good. The city was locked down for days. Poor Mr. Mason couldn't leave to take any photographs."

"I've told you, angel. Humans create their own chaos. Seems this time, Mr. Morgan and Mr. Bell are entirely to blame."

Aziraphale nodded. They both turned their attention to Arthur and Mr. Mason.

"What you trying to take some pictures of? Some more greedy coyotes?" Arthur asked.

"No… wolves."

"Wolves? Well, you really are trying to get yourself eaten."

Crowley frowned at Aziraphale. "Really, angel?"

"They're majestic creatures," Aziraphale replied.

"Oh, I hope not. I left the meat over there. I thought I'd be safe, given the wind." Mr. Mason motioned to a leg of meat he'd left hanging from a nearby tree.

Arthur shook his head. "Yeah, sure, if you manage to attract the world's least intelligent wolf."

"Well I-I…" Mr. Mason trailed off, fiddling with his camera.

"I'll stay with you awhile. If anything comes, I'll protect you as needed." Arthur knelt down next to Mr. Mason.

"You are a gentleman."

"You don't know me very well."

"Well to me, you're a gentleman."

Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale. "Suppose I should stick around, make sure you don't get discorporated by wolves."

Aziraphale smiled at him. "Yes, I suppose you should."

Crowley sighed but it was fond. He could grumble all he wanted, but he knew he'd rather spend this time with Aziraphale than risk the angel being discorporated or worse. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd helped protect Aziraphale and he doubted it would be the last. It was a failing of his foolish heart.

Arthur checked the pistol on his hip. "Usually, I'm worse than the wolves."

Mr. Mason glanced at Arthur. "You have many dealings with wolves, Mr. Morgan?"

"Sure," Arthur drawled.

"But you've never been eaten?" Mr. Mason observed.

"Not through lack of trying on their part. A while back I helped a friend from getting devoured. Usually they are not great fans of man."

"Don't blame them."

"Me neither."

Watched Arthur with Mr. Mason, a dangerous outlaw who could just as easily rob and/or kill Mr. Mason, opting to help him instead. Arthur gained nothing from helping Mr. Mason. Preserving wildlife was not his endeavor. And yet, for the second time, Arthur chose to help the man. Crowley glanced at Aziraphale again and thought back to the time he'd rescued him from the guillotine in France. It probably would've been better to let him be discorporated. He was a demon after all, meant to be enemies with an angel. But Crowley liked Aziraphale too much. They'd known each other since Eden. And even though it had taken some convincing, Aziraphale had eventually agreed to their Arrangement. Though, that had also led to their argument that had been part of Crowley's reason for coming to the United States.

Howling pulled Crowley from his thoughts. Some wolves had finally been attracted by Mr. Mason's leg of meat.

"Ah.. Shh. There's one. Looks like we got company," Arthur whispered.

"Yes, yes. There they are… in the trees. Now, don't do anything. I'm going to take a few photographs. Come on, come on."

Several wolves, not quite a packed, made their way towards the tree. One particularly daring one, moved closer to the tree and howled.

"Good boys… hungry boys. Come on," Mr. Mason muttered, speaking to the wolves. Arthur shifted next to him, hand hovering over his pistol. "Stay back, stay back. Can't have a man in the frame, they'll think it's staged."

Arthur chuckled. "It sort of is."

Mr. Mason held firm to the flash stick, waiting for the opportune moment to take a photo. "Look at them… magnificent creatures."

"Especially when clawing at your eyeballs," Arthur commented.

"Come on… stay still, my beauties."

The wolves moved in closer towards the leg of meat. One even looked up towards the meat and howled. Mr. Mason took a photograph, the flash going off and drawing the attention of the wolves.

"Oh my… they don't seem to be fans of modern technology," Mr. Mason said, starting to take a step away from his camera.

"On the other hand, looks like they may be fans of you," Arthur said.

Arthur was quick to draw his pistol and shouted at the wolves as Mr. Mason moved to coware behind a nearby tree. Crowley reached out with his demonic power, making sure the wolves attention was diverted away from he and Aziraphale.

"Please no! Don't hurt me! Don't eat me!" Mr. Mason cried.

Arthur shot at two of the wolves, not quite hitting them by trying to scare them away. "You wanted wolves, you got wolves, Mr. Mason."

One of the wolves circled around Arthur, eyes on Mr. Mason. "Do something, Mr. Morgan! Help!"

Arthur fired again, this time hitting one of the wolves in the side. Still wasn't aiming to kill, merely scare them away. "They ain't so very friendly, are they?"

Mr. Mason put his arms over his head, trying to protect himself as the wolves move around he and Arthur, snapping and snarling at them. "Please, no, no!"

Arthur frowned and gripped his pistol tightly, firing at each of the wolves in turn. One shot hit a wolf in the throat, stopping it in its tracks.

"Hound a hell," he snarled, as one lunged at him, snapping at his arm and drawing blood.

He kicked at the wolf and fired again, hitting it between the eyes. He fired two more shots, taking down the last two wolves.

"Is that all of them?" he asked, looking around as he moved back over to Mr. Mason. "We might a kept the wolves from the door."

Arthur placed a tentative hand on Mr. Mason's back. "Come on. Snap out of it. You're safe."

Mr. Mason slowly stood up, letting his arms drop as he looked at the now very dead wolves. "My whole futile existence flashed before my eyes."

"Yeah, they can be pretty aggressive."

Mr. Mason let out a shuddery breath. "What a way to… literally a dog's dinner." He paused a moment, as though trying to compose himself. "Still worse things happen at sea."

"Do they?"

"Well, I imagine. Perhaps wolves do better at sea? Are they good swimmers? Well… who knows?" Mr. Mason walked over to his camera as he spoke, shaking slightly. "You have saved my poor foolish skin once again."

Arthur waved him off. "Don't mention it."

Crowley had tensed during the attack, keeping the wolves at bay from he and Aziraphale. He let the defenses he'd put up down and looked to Aziraphale, who was equally as tense as he was but unharmed.

"Well… uh… thank you. For staying," Aziraphale said.

"Don't mention it, angel."

Crowley knew he would be leaving again. Maybe not following after Arthur. He had come back to West Elizabeth to see Strawberry for himself. The detour might've brought him back to Aziraphale, but… he knew he couldn't linger.

"Well, I can't begin to repay my debt of gratitude. But know, I am eternally in your debt," Mr. Mason said, hand over his heart as he spoke.

Arthur smiled. "I do, Mr. Mason. I do. You take care now."

"And you too, sir."

Arthur lingered a moment, watching Mr. Mason as he turned back to his camera.

"Just… checking this equipment, if only my hands weren't shaking quite so much," Mr. Mason muttered.

Arthur shook his head and turned to leave. Crowley was about to do the same, when Mr. Mason turned his attention back to Arthur.

"Oh… Mr. Morgan, you're hurt!" he exclaimed.

Arthur looked down at his bloody arm, having momentarily forgotten about the wolf's bite. "Ah… it's nothing. I've… had worse. It'll be fine."

"Oh, please let me help you bandage it up. As a thank you for saving my life," Mr. Mason insisted.

Arthur considered it a moment before nodding, almost reluctantly. "All right. But we should probably find somewhere else to stop." He motioned to the dead wolves around them. "Might attract more hungry creatures."

"Right. Yes." Mr. Mason turned back to his camera and began taking it down. "We could… go to town?"

Arthur frowned. "I know of an abandoned cabin nearby. Closer. Safer."

"Good idea." Mr. Mason nodded.

He packed up his camera and climbed upon his horse. Arthur whistled for his horse, who had run off during the attack. Once the horse, a Palomino Dapple American Standardbred, appeared, Arthur easily climbed atop it.

"This way," he said, leading Mr. Mason out of the forest.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. "How about some lunch?" he asked.

"I could go for a drink."

"To Strawberry?"

Crowley nodded. They climbed onto their horses and rode towards Strawberry while Arthur and Mr. Mason rode off towards the abandoned cabin.

"Before Mr. Mason and I arrived, I thought Strawberry was a dry town," Aziraphale commented, as they rode.

"Oh it was," Crowley replied, with a smirk.

"Really, Crowley?"

"Dry towns are boring. Besides, the mayor doesn't seem to mind."

"Well, he might now. Considering."

"I am rather persuasive."

"Crowley, people were killed."

"Which wasn't my fault nor the alcohols. It was all Mr. Bell's doing."

"Maybe if he hadn't had access to alcohol."

"He's an outlaw. He was going to cause trouble."

Aziraphale frowned. Crowley spurred his horse on, trotting ahead. Aziraphale followed and soon the two were racing towards town. They both slowed as they neared the town sign and slowly trotted into town. They stopped at the saloon, hitching their horses out front and going inside where Aziraphale ordered mashed potatoes and gravy and Crowley ordered a whiskey. They found a corner booth to sit in, away from prying eyes.

"If you weren't with Mr. Morgan or in Strawberry, where were you?" Aziraphale asked, in between bites.

"Oh, I went to Saint Denis."

"Oh. I believe Mr. mason has some associates there. We might travel there for a potential gallery showing."

Crowley frowned, trying to imagine Aziraphale in Saint Denis. While Aziraphale's fashion tended on the side of the more wealthy, Saint Denis wasn't the type of place Aziraphale would typical choose to spend time.

"Eh, you wouldn't like it there. City of sin," Crowley said, shaking his head.

"Your demonic doing?"

"It was like that before I got there." Crowley purposefully didn't mention what he'd been up to the last few weeks. Wasn't really Aziraphale's business anyway.

"Will you be going back, then?"

Crowley shrugged. "Probably, yeah. Where will you be headed next?"

"Oh, Mr. Mason wants to try to capture photographs of the wild creatures in New Hanover, near Valentine."

"Valentine's alright. You'll probably like it there."

It was Aziraphale's turn to frown.

"How long have you been in the states anyway?"

“About a year. Give or take a couple of months."

"So, Hell's kept you busy, then?"

"Not really. I came here on holiday."

"Oh."

"Did Heaven send you here to help Mr. Mason?"

"Uh… yes. I uh… suspect it was meant to be a punishment."

"For what? More frivolous miracles?"

"No. I suppose I've become too comfortable in London."

Crowley frowned again. He knew the angels could be callous, rude notes about frivolous miracles, apparently so bad that Aziraphale wouldn't even risk one to save himself from discorporation by beheading back in France. But the angels knew about the bookshop. Knew that Aziraphale used it as a base of operations, as it were. Had even been ready to give it to the next angel that'd planned to shuffle off down to Earth until Crowley had interfered to keep Aziraphale where he belonged. Sending him to the states for being "too comfortable" didn't sit right. Something else was going on. Something Aziraphale wasn't telling him. Well Crowley wasn't going to let that go. Under the guise of needing another drink, Crowley went up to the bar and ordered a slice of peach cobbler and a refill on his whiskey. Drink and pie in hand, Crowley returned to the table.

"Oh Crowley." Aziraphale practically beamed at him.

"Don't mention it."

Aziraphale smiled and gladly ate his dessert. Crowley sipped his whiskey.

"I almost messaged you. To tell you I was leaving," Aziraphale said. "Wouldn't have matter since you were already gone. And we hadn't spoken since…"

Crowley shook his head. "I didn't tell you I was leaving."

"No, I suppose you didn't."

"I'm sorry, angel."

"it's fine. We've traveled about without telling the other before. It's only really necessary to… well…"

Crowley chuckled at how Aziraphale still didn't like to actually name their arrangement. "Yeah. Right."

They sat in silence for a moment, Aziraphale finishing his dessert while Crowley drank the rest of his whiskey. He'd come to the states to get away from London and Aziraphale. And yet twice now he'd found him again.

"I don't need you." He'd said during their fight. Thirty seven years later and the fight still stung at Crowley, but he couldn't seem to stay away from the angel.

"When do you think you'll be returning to Saint Denis?" Aziraphale asked.

"In a day or two."

Aziraphale nodded. "Well… maybe Mr. Mason and I will head that way after Valentine and I'll see you there."

"Perhaps."

Aziraphale smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 Art
> 
> [Crowley and Aziraphale riding horses](https://www.deviantart.com/katy133/art/Crowley-and-Aziraphale-on-Horses-824449803) by [katy133](https://www.deviantart.com/katy133)  
> [Crowley and Aziraphale at the saloon](https://bees0are0awesome.tumblr.com/post/190453216395/art-for-5ftjewishcactus-as-part-of-the-good-omens) by [BeesAreAwesome](https://bees0are0awesome.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**April 1899**

After he and Aziraphale parted ways, Crowley headed to the Welcome Center hoping to find the Mayor there. Sure enough, the mayor was outside, giving a riveting speech on how the recent events were not going to stop their town from being a cultural beacon, how he was going to be bringing in more people with lavish shows and events. Crowley chuckled as the townspeople grumbled and booed. Some even accused the Mayor of being complicit in the shootout, since his actions had brought attention to the town. The Mayor rebutted with assurances that he'd ensured the sheriff's office was well equipped to handle outlaws. Crowley applauded as the crowded dispersed.

"Ah… Mr. Crowley,” the mayor said, smiling as he spotted Crowley. “Good to see you again. How are you?"

Crowley moved up the couple steps and leaned against the railing. "I'm good. Glad to see the town is doing well despite recent events."

The mayor grinned. "I'm going to make sure that we're stronger for it."

"Good."

"Are you in Strawberry long, Mr. Crowley?"

"A few days. I have business back in Saint Denis."

"Oh, wonderful. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Mayor."

The mayor nodded and headed into the back office of the Welcome Center. Crowley left and went to the general store, where he spoke with the owner regarding what he know about the shooting. Crowley knew the man had an illegal side business in his basement. Crowley didn’t fault him, Strawberry wasn’t the easiest town to make a living in. Besides the man had a good pulse on the town. Apparently, Mr. Morgan had walked into the Sheriff's office, pretending to be a bounty hunter out for Micah, before he'd busted Mr. Bell out of his sell by blasting a hole in the wall using a stick of dynamite. Instead of fleeing, the two outlaws held a shootout across the town that ended at the house of an old associate of Mr. Bell's.

Crowley knew he'd been right in blaming Mr. Bell for the shooting spree. Arthur didn't seem the type to shoot up an entire town. Crowley spent his remaining two days at the saloon, causing trouble and cheating at poker. He was purposefully avoiding the Welcome Center since his conversation with the Mayor after he'd seen Mr. Mason return. Aziraphale hadn't rent himself a room, but Crowley had spotted him and Mr. Mason talking on the balcony outside Mr. Mason's room.

The train ride back to Saint Denis passed easily as Crowley spent it in the bar car again. Once back in Saint Denis, he returned to his rented flat and slept for two days. Back at La Bastille Saloon, Crowley engaged in some high stakes poker games. The men of Saint Denis were much more competitive than those in Strawberry. Five dollar buy in instead of twenty-five cents. Crowley waited a few rounds before allowing himself some miraculous wins, as he wanted to see how his opponents reacted to losing. After one player actually attempted to cheat, there'd been guns. Crowley was grateful that his wins were demonic in nature. No one could prove it was cheating if the right cards just happened to end up in Crowley's hand. Guns were so… barbaric. Especially in American hands. They seemed to want to solve everything with a gun.

After a few more rounds, Crowley bowed out of the game and headed out into town. He hopped onto one of the trolleys and took in the sights. Saint Denis really was a pleasant place, in its industrial grime that no amount of high society could cover up. Crowley spent the next several weeks slowly spreading his brand of chaos. First was the illegal gambling ring he started above the local gun shop. Higher stakes than the game at La Bastille Saloon. Many men left the game poorer than when they'd entered and some didn't leave at all (again Americans and their guns.) Crowley was quite pleased with himself.

The only thorn in his side was Angelo Bronte. Man thought he owned the whole city. Crowley had a run in with some of the local street kids Mr. Bronte had working for him. Crowley had tried to hire a few to run errands for him, but apparently their loyalty wasn't so easily bought. The older kids had a sense of pride. They felt like they belonged somewhere. The younger kids, Bronte had least took care of them, fed and clothed them, and on the few cold, rainy nights, gave them a roof over their heads. Crowley had begrudging admiration for him.

**May 1899**

Crowley passed the next few weeks keeping up with the gambling game above the gun shop and keeping tabs on Bronte and genuinely enjoying himself among the Saint Denis elite. He even went to a few of the shows, mostly circus show acts, women dancing with fire, men catching bullets with their teeth, mediocre women singing Saint Denis’ praises. It was during the intermission of one of these shows that Crowley spotted Mr. Trelawney again. He slid up next to him at the bar during intermission.

"Mr. Trelawney, how've you been?" Crowley asked.

"Ah, Mr. Crowley. Good to see you again. I've been well. And yourself?"

"I've been well. Keeping busy. And your business venture in Rhodes? How'd that fair?"

"Oh, it was alright. Ran into a little trouble, but my associates were able to help me."

"Oh, are they out near Rhodes then?"

"Yes. Change of scenery, as it were."

Crowley nodded. He'd read about the shootout in Valentine between the Van der Linde gang and Leviticus Cornwall's men. He ordered a whiskey for himself and toasted with Mr. Trelawney.

"In Saint Denis long?" he asked.

"Briefly. Personal business to attend to before I return to Rhodes. Staying in a caravan near town."

"How quaint."

The lights flickered, signaling five minutes before intermission would be over.

"Josiah," a woman called, walking over to Mr. Trelawney.

"Juliann, dear," Mr. Trelawney said. "Sorry, I ran into a business associate. Mr. Crowley, this is my wife, Juliann."

Crowley smiled at her. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Trelawney."

"Nice to meet you, as well, Mr. Crowley.” Mrs. Trelawney stood next to her husband, arm linked with his. “Josiah so rarely introduces me to his business associates. Still waiting to meet Mr. Morgan."

Mr. Trelawney chuckled. "I've told you, dear, in time. He's a very busy man and is currently out of the city."

Crowley leaned in, as though sharing a secret. "I haven't officially met Mr. Morgan, either. Don't take it personally."

"Oh, well then. He must be a very busy man indeed."

"Indeed."

The lights flickered again, signaling a two minute warning before the intermission was over.

"We should be going. See you later, Mr. Crowley."

"Yes, see you Mr. Trelawney."

Mr. Trelawney and his wife headed back towards their seats. Crowley went to his seat

while contemplating his new acquaintance. Mr. Trelawney had failed to mention his wife during their previous interaction. It intrigued Crowley, given what Crowley knew of Mr. Trelawney's business associates and dealings. Clearly, something he must have kept from his wife. Crowley wondered how she'd even found out about Mr. Morgan without having met the man, if Mr. Trelawney was so tight lipped with his dealings. A mystery for another day.

Two days later, Crowley was enjoying a drink at La Bastille Saloon when Mr. Trelawney walked in. Crowley watched him order a drink before he walked over to Crowley.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Go ahead." Crowley motioned with his glass before taking a drink.

Mr. Trelawney nodded and sat across from Crowley. He drank some of his whiskey and was silent for several minutes.

"I… uh… I'd appreciate it if you didn't let word of my wife reach Van der Linde. I've already asked Arthur the same," Mr. Trelawney said.

"Of course. Keep your personal life and professional life separate. Understandable."

Mr. Trelawney nodded again.

"How does your wife know of Mr. Morgan anyway?" Crowley asked.

"Oh.. Uh… he found my home. Not sure how. I asked him to meet me later. Told Juliann he was a business associate."

Crowley wondered if it had anything to do with Mr. Mason, since Aziraphale had mentioned a gallery showing in Saint Denis.

"How is Mr. Morgan?" Crowley asked, since he hadn't seen the man since the last encounter near Strawberry.

"Oh… well enough. Recovering at the moment."

Crowley raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Recovering?"

"Nasty business with a rival gang. He's lucky to be alive."

"Sounds like it. No honor amongst thieves then?"

"Oh no. Not when it comes to Colm O'Driscoll. Terrible Man."

Crowley knew some of Colm O'Driscoll. He'd read the papers, the charges against Colm and his gang. They honestly weren't much better than Van der Linde and his gang. But Crowley wasn't going to tell Mr. Trelawney that.

"When will you be heading back to Rhodes?" he asked.

"Tomorrow. Came back to see Juliann and our two boys. I've actually been staying in camp with Arthur and the others. Had a run in with some bounty hunters."

"What about your caravan?"

"Still there. Mr. Smith, one of my associates, has been keeping tabs on it, in case any others come sniffing about."

"Clever."

The two men drank and spoke for a while longer, Mr. Trelawney impressed with Crowley's poker ring and Crowley intrigued by Mr. Trelawney's bunch of discouraged men, giving out robbery tips in exchange for extra cash.

"Will you be traveling to Rhodes anytime soon?" Mr. Trelawney asked.

"Possibly. Might have some business that way soon."

"Excellent. Stop by the Rhodes train station and let my man Alden know and we'll meet for drinks at the Rhodes Parlor House. I'll introduce you to Arthur."

"If he's up for it."

"I'm sure he will be. He's not used to staying in camp for too long. Being confined to bed rest is making him restless."

"Poor man."

Mr. Trelawney nodded. "Well, I better return home. I promised the boys I'd teach them one of my magic tricks."

"Oh… fun."

"Yes. Quite. Let me know when you're in Rhodes. See you then, Mr. Crowley."

"Be seeing you, Mr. Trelawney."

Crowley finished his drink after Mr. Trelawney left and thought about what he'd said about Arthur. A thought crossed his mind and even though it was a long shot, Crowley made his way to the trolley station. There he sent off a letter to Aziraphale in Valentine. He hoped Aziraphale was still going by the same name he'd been using in 1862. It was the only name Crowley had. Ezra Fell. With luck, it was the right name and it would reach Aziraphale before Crowley left for Rhodes.

He spent the next few days ensuring his schemes were stable, that if he left for a few days, it wouldn't fall apart. After the incident in Strawberry, Crowley didn't want to take any chances. He'd worked too hard to spread temptation throughout Saint Denis. He didn't need that hard work being ruined. He was maybe a bit tired of his actual work being ignored while things the humans did being attributed to him. It wasn't his fault humans were far crueler than most demons could ever dare to be.

"Stupid bloody free-will," Crowley grumbled.

The irony was not lost on him.

Three days passed before Crowley received word from Aziraphale. They were staying in Emerald Ranch. They'd left Valentine before the business with Cornwall, thankfully, and had been venturing out in New Hanover to capture the beauty of various wildlife there. They were set to be there for another week, as Mr. Mason had his eyes on some local wildlife and settings. Crowley was glad to hear they'd avoided the shootout in Valentine. He wrote back again, saying he'd be in Rhodes with Mr. Morgan and was hoping to tempt him towards a trip to Emerald Ranch. He mentioned the encounter with a rival gang and that he felt Mr. Morgan would appreciate Mr. Mason's company. He did not mention the part of him that actually wanted to see Aziraphale too. Couldn't let him think he truly missed him when the whole reason he'd come to America was to avoid the angel. It had only been a month since they'd last seen each other. Pathetic.

Crowley finished his business in Saint Denis and purchased a train ticket for Rhodes. As with his previous train trips, Crowley spent the duration in the bar car. It was a shorter trip than the one back towards Strawberry. Exiting the train, Crowley entered the train station and found Alden behind the counter.

"Hello," Crowley said. "Are you Alden?"

"Yes. Yes I am. Let me guess, you're Josiah's friends, Mr. Crowley."

"Yes, I am. Will you please let him know I'm in town?" Crowley slide a bill across the counter.

"Of course."

"Thank you."

"If there's anything else you need, please let me know."

"Thank you, Alden."

"Good day, Mr. Crowley."

Crowley nodded and headed out into the town proper. It was different from the other towns Crowley had been to. Less industrialized than Saint Denis. More sophisticated than Valentine or Strawberry. Crowley made his way down the side street, passing behind the back of the bank and the undertaker. On the other side of the road was a water tower with "Rhodes" written in bright white letters on the side. He continued on, passed the back of the gunsmith and towards a small stable just before the Rhodes Parlor House.

Larger than Smithfield's in Valentine, similar to the saloon in Strawberry, at least in its outer appearance. Brighter than La Bastille Saloon when Crowley stepped inside, through just as lavish. Crowley made his way to the bar, where he requested a room and was provided a key to one of the rooms in the back. It wasn't much, a single twin bed in the corner, a dresser and small nightstand filled the room. Outside the window, Crowley could see the road. It would do for his stay in town at least. Crowley went back out to the bar, ordered a drink and made his way upstairs to the modest poker game upstairs. He paid the four dollars and played a few rounds.

Despite the more rich betting, the players seemed less inclined to pull out their guns after a loss than those in Saint Denis. Lower stakes than in Saint Denis and it seemed, from what Crowley picked up from observation, that the rabble left everyone wanting to appear more civilized than those still living in the past. Crowley recalled his conversation with Mr. Trelawney months ago about the people in Rhodes who hadn't left the war behind them. They were the type that would get Crowley recognition without having to do anything. Not that Crowley planned to be in Rhodes for long.

After a few more rounds of poker, giving him a nice handful of cash to spend, Crowley headed back to his room. He left a note with the barkeep in case Mr. Trelawney showed up. Crowley didn't need sleep but Crowley liked sleep. He'd slept most of the 19th Century. He'd only woken up around 1860 because of a sense of foreboding. While he trusted Aziraphale to deal with things while he slept, he couldn't let go of the encounter in 1800, where he'd almost walked into the bookshop in front of Gabriel. It would've ruined everything. It was why he'd asked for the Holy Water. Which led right back to Crowley's current predicament. With a heavy sigh, Crowley crawled into the bed and slept through the next two days. He was woken up around noon on the third day to a knock on his door.

"What?" Crowley asked, cracking open the door.

"Mr. Trelawney is here for you, sir," the barkeep replied.

"Thank you."

Crowley closed the door and with a snap, changed clothes and made himself look presentable. He waited only a moment before exiting his room and headed into the bar.

"Ah, Mr. Crowley," Mr. Trelawney greet from one of the tables.

Sitting next to him was Arthur Morgan. He was slouched down in the chair, leaning heavily against the table.

"Mr. Trelawney, good to see you again."

"And you. Come, I want to introduce you to someone. Mr. Crowley, this is Arthur Morgan. Arthur, this is Mr. Crowley."

Arthur grunted in response, glaring at Crowley.

"Nice to meet you," Crowley replied.

"Don't mind him. He'd still in pain. Only agreed to come with me to get away from camp."

"It's fine. Is it too early for drinks?"

"Of course not. I'll order."

Mr. Trelawney headed to the bar. Crowley sat down at the table next to Arthur. It had been a while, if Crowley was being honest, since he'd performed this sort of temptation. The kind that came in like a whisper. A suggestion that made the person feel like the choice was their own. Planting an idea in the human's head. He needed Arthur to think the idea to see Mr. Mason was his own. He made it so no one, not Arthur or any patrons around them, would notice as Crowley leaned in and whispered: "You've heard word of a bumbling photographer out near Emerald Ranch. You suspect it's Mr. Mason. You want to see him."

Arthur made no movement, no acknowledgment but Crowley knew the temptation had worked. He let reality return and sat back in his seat as Mr. Trelawney returned with their drinks.

"So, Arthur, tell Mr. Crowley what you've discovered around the area," Mr. Trelawney said, offering Arthur a beer.

Arthur took a large sip of his beer and grumbled again.

"Nothing that would interest the two of you. These families Hosea's got us involved with are wasting our time," Arthur replied.

"Sounds like an interesting tale," Crowley said.

"Are you a writer, Mr. Crowley?" Arthur asked.

"No. Books aren't really my thing. History, though, that is fascinating."

"Oh, well." Arthur took another drink of his beer. "So, this is all I know."

Arthur proceeded to tell them of the two families within Rhodes, the Greys and the Braithwaiths, who supposedly had some gold hidden away that they'd been fighting over. Crowley was amused at the young couple, playing out their own version of Romeo and Juliet. Hopefully it would end better for them. Arthur seemed to warm up after a couple of drinks, teasing Mr. Trelawney and making jabs about some of their fellow gang. Crowley shared little of himself, focused mainly on his business in the states without going into too much detail. Stuck to the details he'd already shared with Mr. Trelawney previously. Eventually, Arthur seemed to tire, the pain in his shoulder bothering him enough that his demeanor visibly changed.

"We should head back," Mr. Trelawney said.

"I'm not going back. I'll get a room here."

"Arthur. Be reasonable."

"No.” Arthur scowled. “I have business in Emerald Ranch. Hosea knows about it. If I go back to camp now, they'll never let me leave."

Mr. Trelawney seemed to ignore Arthur’s sour look. "You're still recovering. They have a right to worry."

"And we need money. I don't see Micah out here."

Mr. Trelawney frowned. "Fine. I'll tell them I did my best."

Arthur nodded. Mr. Trelawney sighed and left them. Arthur finished his beer and stood.

"Nice meeting you, Mr. Crowley."

"Same to you, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur walked over to the bar and asked for a room. Crowley headed upstairs to the poker game and played a few hands. While he knew his temptation had worked and Arthur intended to head to Emerald Ranch, the outlaw's weakened state concerned him. He regret not tempting the man into taking the train, least he collapse while riding out. But Crowley didn't want to ride a horse. Not again. He'd almost fallen off the last time. Of course, traveling by train was risky because Arthur most likely would spot Crowley on the train, if Crowley wasn't careful. He won a few hands of poker and decided Arthur knew what he was doing, if he chose to ride via horse all the way to Emerald Ranch. Crowley was going to take the train. He'd beat Arthur there, but he could see what Aziraphale and Mr. Mason were up to.

By that night, Arthur hadn't left his room. Crowley returned to his own room, planning to sleep for the night before taking the train to Emerald Ranch in the morning. Easy enough plan. When morning arrived, Crowley checked out of his room and closed his tab. He didn't have a plan for after this little venture. He assumed he'd be heading back to Saint Denis. He liked Saint Denis. But he didn't know what Aziraphale's plans were and if there were more dangerous photography subjects in his future. Not that Crowley was looking for an excuse to see Aziraphale more. This visit was strictly about Arthur.

Crowley sighed and cursed his foolish heart. He was supposed to be on holiday, taking a break from his angel. "His angel." Stupid, traitorous heart. Even with all the things he'd done, appeased Hell with his schemes, it all felt insignificant compared to time with Aziraphale. Ever since that first chance meeting in West Elizabeth. Yes, he'd reached out to Aziraphale for Arthur, but if Crowley were honest with himself, he wanted to see Aziraphale again. Crowley groaned. He needed a drink. As he neared the station, he remembered Alden. Maybe he'd have Alden send him word when Arthur left Rhodes, if possible. Inside he found Alden, all chipper smiles.

"Hello, Mr. Crowley. How can I help you today?"

"Hello Alden. One ticket to Emerald Station please."

"Oh. Business or pleasure?"

"Business."

"Shame. Here you are. Anything else I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually. Any chance you can let me know when another of Mr. Trelawney's associates leaves Rhodes?"

"Oh, of course. Would it happen to be Mr. Morgan?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Trelawney wants word as well. I haven't seen him leave yet, but I can let you know when he does."

"Thank you, Alden."

Crowley slide him an extra bill as payment and for his discretion. He waited for the first train to arrive and headed straight for the bar car when it did. He was already two drinks in when a young boy came up to him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Crowley, sir?" the boy asked.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Alden wanted me to tell you that a Mr. Arthur has boarded the train for Emerald Station."

"Thank you." Crowley tipped the boy with some change and watched him scamper off. Well, that sorted that. Crowley would only have to ensure Arthur didn't see him when they debarked at the station. He wasn't too worried about the ride there, if Arthur was taking the train of his own accord, he must not have been feeling well enough, so socializing in the bar car seemed unlikely. Crowley contented himself to stay in the bar car and enjoy his drinks.

The trip to Emerald Station was longer than the one to Rhodes, given that the train took them back through Saint Denis and then around to Emerald Station. At least Crowley could easily return to Saint Denis, if he chose to after this little jaunt. It was midday when the train finally arrived at the station. Crowley waited to exit the train, until he’d seen Arthur exit and head for the back, where travelling horses were kept. Crowley was debating if he was going to pay for a carriage or walk to Emerald Ranch proper when he spotted a familiar figure waiting on a bench. He walked over and sat down on the left side.

"Hello, angel," he greeted.

"Hello, Crowley," Aziraphale replied.

"Shouldn't you be with Mr. Mason?"

"Oh he's fine. Photographing wild horses. Well, trying to anyway. They're not particularly fond of humans it seems."

"Wild horses, huh?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Figured something less life threatening, while Mr. Morgan is recovering."

Crowley smiled. "I'm sure Mr. Morgan will appreciate that." Was all he said, as way of saying thank you.

Aziraphale smiled again. They watched from the bench as Arthur rode by, not even giving them any notice. Not that he'd notice Aziraphale, but Crowley would be familiar to him. He looked only slightly better than he had the day before, though Crowley noticed he favored his left arm. He held firmly to the reins and horn with his rand hand, while his left stayed firmly tucked against his body, left hand resting on his belt. The man grimaced as he spurred his horse into a gallop. The angel and demon watched the outlaw disappear up the road.

"Suppose we should follow?" Crowley suggested.

"Yes, I suppose so. We can head to the lodgings. Mr. Mason and myself are staying near Guthrie Farms."

Aziraphale stood and Crowley followed. They walked along the dirt path, heading in the direction of Emerald Ranch. Two men walking along the path might've seemed strange to others, but for them, the walk was nothing. They'd spent years where walking was the main mode of transportation. And then the years residing in London, walking through St. James Park together. They walked in comfortable silence, much like the walks back home. While many times they'd met at St. James Park for purposes related to their respective sides, there were plenty of times when they'd met simply for the companionship. Much like now. Soon they reached the road that would take them into Emerald Ranch proper. Crowley deferred to Aziraphale, who knew where they were going and the angel led them up the road, passed the main road into the small center.

"This used to be its own little community. General store and saloon. Now it's just the farmers," Aziraphale explained, as they walked farther ahead.

"How quaint," Crowley commented.

"It's good that people have community. Especially out here. Life could be very lonely otherwise."

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale but said nothing in response. There was nothing to say. Aziraphale was right. Life could be lonely. They both knew that. It was one of the reasons they had the Arrangement. After all the four thousand years they'd been on Earth, only occasionally running into each other at first. Over the years, they'd found more and more reason to find each other until finally Aziraphale had decided to settle down in London with his bookshop. Crowley had found it easy to stay. For the Arrangement, of course. And the angel's company.

"It was…" Aziraphale began, "…lonely. While you slept those sixty years."

Crowley didn’t know what to say to that. He'd been… selfish those years. He enjoyed sleep. Much like Aziraphale enjoyed food. Though he doubted Aziraphale would leave him to eat for sixty years.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, hoping the angel heard him.

Aziraphale gave a small smile in return. They walked on, passed the main ranches and out towards the smaller farms.

"Almost there," Aziraphale said, as a farm house and several smaller lodgings came into view. "I'm staying in the last one, on the right."

As they walked, Crowley spotted two figures standing out in the open area of wildlife and water.

"Ah… seems Mr. Morgan found Mr. Mason," Crowley said, drawing Aziraphale's attention to the two men.

"Mr. Mason has been out there for a few days now."

"Should we… take a closer look? Make sure the horses aren't giving them too much trouble?"

"Yes. Perhaps we should."

As they walked towards the two men, Crowley ensured they wouldn't be seen. Unlike the last two encounters, there weren't many trees for them to hide amongst.

"Well, this is God's country, and I am his faithful servant. Although perhaps not his most talented one. I have been trying to capture the grace of the wild horses here for weeks. Only the buggers can't stand me," Mr. Mason said, pulling out a pair of binoculars and handing them to Arthur.

Arthur looked through the binoculars and pointed. "That is a silver dapple pinto."

He handed the binoculars back to Mr. Mason who looked out towards the horses again. "I know… Beautiful. Won't come anywhere near me of course… he can smell my stupidity."

Arthur looked to Mr. Mason. "Well, how about I drive them over?"

Mr. Mason turned to Arthur. "Oh, that might help… Can you be bothered? I feel like such a blunderer."

"Sure," Arthur turned to head to his horse. "Wait here."

"At least this time I doubt I'll get eaten."

Both men chuckled and Arthur headed for his horse. He rode off in the direction of the horses, coming up behind them and encouraged them towards the direction of Mr. Mason. Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who was watching as Arthur encouraged the horses forward, seemingly at ease herding the horses across the land. Mr. Mason stood dutifully at his camera, focus on the incoming subjects.

"That's it!" Arthur exclaimed, as the horses raced across where Mr. Mason stood.

"I've got it! I've got it! Yes!" The flash from Mr. Mason's camera went off, just as the wild horses raced across. "Mr. Morgan!"

Arthur returned to where he'd left Mr. Mason and hopped off his horse. He rejoined Mr. Mason who smiled at him.

"You are a genius," he exclaimed.

Arthur shook his head, ducking his head. "No, but I can ride a horse."

"Well, in my world that makes you a genius." Mr. Mason grinned.

"You're too kind. How are… the photos coming along?"

"Oh, amazing. Here…" Mr. Mason bent over to retrieve a copy of one of the pictures from his bag at his feet. "I have a print of the wolves… before they tried to eat us. It's for you."

He handed it to Arthur who looked at it carefully. "That's real fine."

"Well, thank you."

Arthur nodded. "Take care, Mr. Mason."

"You too, sir. You too." Mr. Mason turned back to his camera as Arthur turned to walk away. "Now for a few final checks. Don't mind me… I may be at this for some time."

After a moment, Arthur turned back to Mr. Mason. "You know, horses seem like a fine subject for you. You maybe think about documenting animal life… of the farm yard variety? From now on?"

"Oh that isn't very nice," Aziraphale said, even as Crowley held in a chuckle.

"Oh, ah, yes. You had me there. A wild horse is a different beast to his domesticated brother. Very good. Very good," Mr. Mason replied.

"Hmm... Yeah…"

Arthur stood a minute, rubbed at his shoulder and glanced around.

"At least there's nothing out here that's likely to eat me. There isn't, is there?" Mr. Mason asked, glancing around.

Arthur shook his head. "No. Not out here, Mr. Mason. Though there was a wild lion a few weeks back. Escaped from a travelling circus act."

"Oh my!"

Arthur chuckled and continued to linger.

"Just say something if you see that herd of mustangs running back at me." Mr. Mason chuckled nervously.

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look, as Arthur stepped closer to Mr. Mason again.

"You know, I could stay. For a bit. In case they come back," Arthur said.

Mr. Mason looked at him, from behind his camera. "I don't want to keep you. But… if you wouldn't mind. I could provide lunch again. I do owe you, yet again for your assistance."

Arthur smiled. "I'd like that."

"Excellent." Mr. Mason turned back to his camera and began packing it up. "I'm staying nearby. We can go there and I'll make something for us."

Aziraphale smiled as he turned back to Crowley.

"Shall we?" he asked, tilting his head in the direction of Guthrie Farm.

"After you, angel."

They headed to Aziraphale's lodgings, keeping out of sight of the two men as they returned to Mr. Mason's lodgings at the opposite end of the row of small houses. Inside the small house was a single room, with a single bed in one corner, a small kitchen with a small dining table. There were a stack of books on the little nightstand by the bed.

"You and your books, angel," Crowley said with a chuckle.

"Yes, well, I don't sleep. Even with all the traveling out here. I have to pass the time somehow."

Crowley removed his hat, setting it on the table as he sat down. "One day, you really need to try sleeping. I think you might enjoy it."

"And maybe one day I'll see you eat a proper meal."

Crowley chuckled again. "Perhaps one day."

"Well, for today, can I offer you a drink?"

"Only if you have something better than they sell at most of the saloons."

Aziraphale walked over to one of the cupboards and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

"Imported it myself," he said, setting the bottle on the table.

"Oh, you are wonderful, angel."

With a snap, Crowley produced two glasses for them. As Aziraphale poured their glasses, Crowley used the time to look at Aziraphale, now that they were alone. Aziraphale sat in the opposite chair and grabbed a glass. Crowley picked up his own glass and stared at the red liquid as he swirled it around.

"I was surprised when I received your letter," Aziraphale said.

Crowley shrugged. "Seemed the thing to try."

"For Mr. Morgan."

"Yes. For Mr. Morgan."

Crowley took a sip of his wine. It was easier than looking at Aziraphale who was smiling at him. If he looked at that smile, his poor heart might be tempted to confess that he'd missed the angel, too.

"Will you be heading back to Saint Denis after this?" Aziraphale asked.

"Probably."

"Mr. Mason and I will be headed that way soon. He has a gallery showing there he needs to prepare for."

Crowley nodded. "Right. Yeah."

"Would you… perhaps… escort us back?" Aziraphale asked, staring into his own glass.

Crowley considered saying no. He should say no. The smart thing would be saying no. But Crowley was technically still on holiday. Any of his schemed were from boredom more than anything. And he had orchestrated this whole meet up because he missed the angel. And maybe the angel missed him, too.

"I suppose I could. For Mr. Mason's safety," Crowley finally replied.

"Yes. For Mr. Mason's safety."

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley again and the demon's heart fluttered. Stupid, foolish heart. But Crowley smiled, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**May 1899**

Crowley ended up staying for three more days in Emerald Ranch with Aziraphale while Mr. Mason captured a few more pictures around the area. He stayed in the small lodgings with the angel, sleeping in the single bed at night while Aziraphale sat reading at the dining table. During one of the days, Aziraphale had gone out to keep an eye on Mr. Mason, so Crowley went into the ranch proper and did some exploring at the old saloon and general store. Inside the saloon was mostly dust, some bullet holes and dried blood. No leftover liquor. Probably all pilfered when the saloon closed. The general store similarly contained dust and a few random items left behind. Mostly old, moth eaten clothing and toys. All the food was probably sold or taken when the store closed.

Crowley also heard from some of the local ranch hands the tale of the lion that had attacked and murdered a couple of ranch hands and several horses and cows before being killed by a rogue cowboy who'd come looking for it, though he'd apparently thought it was a dog at first. Was a shame that the lion had ended up dead. Even knowing it had come from a travelling circus act, why a wild lion would be lose in that area of the United States was a mystery to Crowley. He wished he could ask Arthur about it, since he’d mentioned it to Mr. Mason. Trying to talk to Aziraphale about it hadn’t worked out, since he was upset to learn that Arthur had killed the lion. That had prompted Crowley to bring up the previous encounter with the wolves. While Mr. Mason was proud of the pictures he'd taken, he did wish the encounter had ended differently. He was grateful to Arthur for saving his life. But his endeavor was to save the wildlife. Aziraphale seemed to agree in that regard.

Aziraphale was equally grateful that Crowley had been there, but it was unfortunate that the very creatures Mr. Mason was trying to save were already dead. Future generations would live, Crowley tried to argue but he understood where Aziraphale's point of view came from. Aziraphale loved all of the Almighty's creatures. He was an angel, after all. It was why this job was perfect for him. Even if Gabriel had meant it as a punishment.

The morning of the fourth day, Aziraphale announced that they would be leaving for Saint Denis. Unfortunately, they were not taking the train.

"Why not?" Crowley asked.

"There are other creatures Mr. Mason wants to photograph along the way."

Crowley sighed. "Fine."

It meant Crowley would have to rent a horse. Again. Satan, he hated horses. Terrible means of transportation. At least he'd be in the angel's company for the trip. And Mr. Mason seemed an alright sort of human.

"How are we traveling with Mr. Mason anyway?" Crowley asked.

"Oh. I was… uh… going to introduce you as one of my associates."

It occurred to Crowley that he didn't actually know what Aziraphale's story was with Mr. Mason. "Who exactly does Mr. Mason think you are?"

A grin graced Aziraphale's face, as he gave an excited sort of wiggle before he began to explain. "I am a Wildlife Conservationist who is helping him reach a broader audience both here and abroad via gallery showings. You would be one of my such gallery owning associates who came out to see about the investment first hand."

Crowley was impressed. Aziraphale had thought the cover story through.

"I don't actually own a gallery though," he said.

"No, but you do know someone who does."

Crowley smiled. Of course Aziraphale remembered that. He did take Aziraphale to the gallery's grand opening. The owner had been a woman who Crowley had been sent to tempt into some evil deed. Turned out her situation was rather terrible and Crowley used the temptation to help free her from the situation and start her own business. It was a win-win in Crowley's book.

"I suppose I'll have to reach out to Caroline when we reach Saint Denis."

Aziraphale beamed at him. Oh, the things Crowley would do to see that smile more. The things he had done. Every time Crowley heard of a new production of Hamlet opening at the Global, Crowley groaned. His stupid, heart had seen the angel bat his pretty blue eyes at him and he'd caved like the lovestruck fool he was. Hamlet had been and still was a success. Crowley's reasoning to below had been how miserable people would be, going to see Shakespeare and suffering through one of the gloomy ones when they expected a comedy.

"I best go acquire a horse. Meet you and Mr. Mason back here?" Crowley said.

"Yes. We'll be right outside."

Crowley nodded and headed out. He walked along the road towards the main ranch again, hoping one of the ranches would be willing to rent or sell him a horse for his journey. Eventually he came to one of the main stables. An older gentleman was working along the side of the building.

"Hello, can I help you?" he asked.

"Depends. I need a horse," Crowley replied.

"That I can help you with. Name's Seamus. What kind of horse are you looking for?"

"One that can get me from here to Saint Denis. With a few stops along the way."

Seamus pondered a moment. "I think I've got just the horse for you."

He disappeared inside the stable and returned a few minutes later with a large, black Hungarian Halfbred horse.

"This beast will get you from here to Saint Denis easy enough. He doesn't frighten easily, so if any wolves or the like threaten you during your journey, he shouldn't buck you off," Seamus said.

Crowley eyed the horse and decided he would do. "How much?"

"Two hundred fifty dollars. For the horse and tack."

Crowley frowned. The horse he'd rented near Strawberry had only cost him a hundred dollars. Would've been easier to just miracle up a horse, but unfortunately Crowley was still somewhat limited to what he could and could not miracle into existence. The horse would have to come from somewhere and given where he was, someone would be upset at a missing horse. Would've been easier if Crowley could just somehow miracle a horse into a secret hidden pocket somewhere until he needed it again instead of constantly renting or buying and selling them over and over and over again.

"Here," he said, pulling out some of his poker winnings and handing it to Seamus.

"Pleasure doing business with you, sir."

"Yeah, yeah."

Crowley took the reins and mounted up onto the horse. He rode back towards Guthrie Farm and found Aziraphale and Mr. Mason standing outside the lodgings with their horses all packed up and ready to go. Crowley stopped the horse just short of the pair and dismounted.

"Ah, Mr. Mason, this is my associate I told you about," Aziraphale said.

"Mr. Crowley," Crowley introduced, shaking hands with Mr. Mason.

"Albert Mason. Thank you for making the trip all the way out here, Mr. Crowley. I and the wildlife certainly appreciate it," Mr. Mason said.

"I can assure you, it is a pleasure to be here."

Mr. Mason smiled. He reached into his bag and pulled out a few small prints.

"These are copies of the photographs I've already taken and plan to show at the Galerie Laurent in Saint Denis. As well as a few others I hope to capture before the opening," he said, handing the prints to Crowley.

Crowley flipped through them, recognizing the wolves and coyotes from the earlier ventures, as well as some other photographs of elk and deer. There was also the photograph of Arthur.

"And who might this be?" Crowley asked, holding up Arthur's photograph.

"Oh, uh… his name is Arthur Morgan. He's helped me a few times along the way. He's… a true gentleman and a man of the land. He lives out in the wild, amongst the glorious creatures I am trying to capture. I fear industry will be the end of men like him. Which would be a shame. Men like Arthur deserve to be preserved as well. How can we be expected to respect the lives of wild animals when we can't even show the same decency to the people who live among them?"

Crowley smiled. It was clear from the way he spoke that Mr. Mason knew the truth about Arthur, that he was an outlaw, but wasn't saying as such to protect him. Instead, he was using him as an example of the type of people who should be admired amongst the wildlife he held so dear. Crowley looked to Aziraphale who had that grin on his face that Crowley knew meant he was very pleased.

"Your passion for the project is very admirable, Mr. Mason," Crowley said, handing the prints back.

"Oh, well… thank you, Mr. Crowley."

Crowley nodded. The three of them mounted up onto their horses and began the journey back to Saint Denis. They took the road that took them towards Dewberry Creek from Guthrie Farm. They stopped along the dried up creek where Mr. Mason captured some photographs of local birds in the area. They moved farther on, stopping to camp for the night in the area of Eris Field near Ringneck Creek. The next day, they crossed the Kamassa River into Bayou Nwa territory where Mr. Mason stopped to photograph some exotic birds in the area. He made some comments about alligators in the swamps of Lemoyne out near Lagras. Crowley argued with Aziraphale that they were not going to photograph alligators. It was too risky.

They reached Saint Denis by nightfall. Mr. Mason had a flat not far from Crowley's and agreed to meet with Mr. Fell in the morning, to head to the gallery.

"You're welcome to meet us," Aziraphale said, as he walked with Crowley towards his own accommodations.

"I suppose I shall. I'll make sure to contact Caroline tomorrow, as agreed."

"Oh, yes. Uh… Mr. Mason will be very thankful."

"Good night, angel."

"Good night, Crowley."

Crowley tied his horse to the post nearest his flat and headed inside for the night. He hadn't slept well the previous night, camped on a mat on the ground under a poorly pitched tent. He wasn't one for staying outdoors like that. Preferred indoors. Beds and baths and kitchens. Comfort and warmth. As soon as he crawled into bed and his head hit the pillow, he was out for the night. He woke to the sun peeking through his curtains the next morning. On his way to the gallery in town, he stopped at the trolley station to send a letter off to Caroline back in London. Made sure she understood the importance of Mr. Mason's work.

The Galerie Laurent was downtown Saint Denis. Didn't seem like much from the outside, but as Crowley made his way inside, he could see where the opulence began to appear inside. Even before he'd entered the main gallery, he could see the details along the entryway and walls that marked the gallery as classy compared to the exterior which was as dirty and dank as the rest of Saint Denis.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm sorry but the gallery isn't open quite yet," a woman said.

"Oh, I'm meeting a couple of my associates here. Mr. Mason and Mr. Fell."

"Ah, yes. Go on through to the next room."

Crowley nodded at the woman and continued through the open entryway where he could see several photographs and portraits already hanging on the walls. Farther inside, Mr. Mason and Aziraphale were talking to a man, the owner, Crowley assumed.

"Ah, Mr. Crowley," Aziraphale said with a grin as Crowley walked over. "Mr. Clark, this is my associate from London."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley," Mr. Clark replied, holding out his hand to Crowley.

"You as well, Mr. Clark."

"I was explaining to Mr. Mason and Mr. Fell our plans to display his photographs within this room, along the main walls. We only need four or five good prints which we can display prominently."

Crowley nodded. Mr. Clark continued to go on about the plans for the opening, describing how Mr. Mason would be welcome to speak to guests about the photographs, about his objective and what actions he'd already taken. All of it seemed like a very generous set up to allow Mr. Mason to showcase all his hard work. Aziraphale seemed quite pleased about it all. They spent a little bit more time at the gallery, allowed an early preview of some of the other exhibits that would be showcased along with Mr. Mason's work.

After the meeting, Mr. Mason returned to his flat to work on the newer prints he'd taken over the last few days. Crowley invited Aziraphale to lunch at La Bastille Saloon.

"La Bastille? Really?" Aziraphale asked.

"I didn't name it. I found it that way," Crowley replied. "But it does seem fitting."

Aziraphale huffed a sigh but walked with Crowley to the saloon. Aziraphale ordered a glass of wine and the lobster bisque while Crowley ordered a whiskey. They headed upstairs to sit on the balcony at one of the umbrella shaded tables that overlooked the fountain in the center of the square. The angel ate his meal and sipped his wine while commenting on the view and Crowley watched and listened, glad to have more time with Aziraphale despite having reach the city again. After the meal, they walked through town towards one of the gardens and found a bench to sit down at and people watch for a while. Crowley decided to let Aziraphale in on some of his schemes (he was particularly displeased with the illegal poker game) but promised not to meddle in Crowley's affairs.

When they parted ways, they agreed to meet for lunch a few days later. Aziraphale would keep him updated on Mr. Mason's business with the gallery. Crowley hoped the information would be helpful, if he heard back from Caroline.

**June 1899**

The next two weeks passed by easily. Crowley kept up with his schemes and every couple of days met Aziraphale for lunch at La Bastille Saloon and then they'd go to one of the parks and walk or sit and talk. It was like being back home in London. Mr. Mason's gallery showing was almost fully prepared. He only needed one more photograph for his showcase. He just hadn't found it yet. Coyotes and wolves and wild horses and an outlaw. Aziraphale was trying to help him, as he'd taken some magnificent images of elk and deer and beavers. But Mr. Mason said he needed something else, something more magnificent.

"It's the alligators, isn't it?" Crowley asked.

"I'm afraid so," Aziraphale replied.

Crowley sighed. Of course it was. More dangerous. More magnificent. More endangered. Photographs of them would be significant. But also so incredibly risky to capture. Crowley could protect Mr. Mason. He could. But… it was a risk to do so. It wasn't something evil. It was a kindness. Aziraphale, of course, was also capable of protecting Mr. Mason. But who would protect him? Crowley couldn't let him go out there alone.

"Give me two days," Crowley said. "I have a plan. We'll get Mr. Mason his alligators."

"Two days."

Crowley reached out to Mr. Trelawney hoping perhaps he could tempt Arthur into rescuing Mr. Mason again, so Crowley wouldn't have to while ensuring Aziraphale did not meet discorporation by alligator. Surprisingly, Mr. Trelawney was back in Saint Denis and met Crowley at La Bastille Saloon.

"How are things with your associates?" Crowley asked.

He'd seen the newspapers. The shootout in Rhodes between a group of rogue outlaws and the local sheriff's office. Mr. Trelawney filled him in on the on-goings of the Van der Linde gang. Apparently, following the Rhodes shootout, the Braithwaithes had kidnapped the young son of another member of the gang. Several of the men, sans Mr. Trelawney because he wasn't the fighting type, went to face down the Braithwaithes and found out that they'd handed the boy off to Angelo Bronte.

"I knew I hated that man," Crowley hissed.

"He didn't harm young Jack. But… it certainly wasn't a pleasant experience for the rest of us. Fortunately, he's fine. Same, cheerful young boy he's always been."

"Good."

"There's also some men after Mr. Van der Linde, so they've moved camp again. Just outside Saint Denis. I decided I preferred the city to the swamps outside of it, so I came home. But they're still out there, trying to plan for what comes next."

Crowley nodded. He knew with the Van der Linde gang so close, he was sure to receive some sort of award for a job well done with whatever those plans entailed. Almost made him tempted to return to England. He wouldn't, not until he knew Aziraphale was safe. Somewhere along the way, he'd decided he wasn't going back to England until Aziraphale was. Perhaps it was the reminder that Aziraphale had once gotten himself imprisoned in the real Bastille and nearly discorporated by beheading that had Crowley unwilling to leave the angel on his own.

"I hate to ask, but I was hoping I could borrow Mr. Morgan. We have a common associate who is in need of assistance again," Crowley explained.

"I'm sure Arthur would be more than willing to help."

Crowley provided Mr. Trelawney with Mr. Mason's name and stated that he would be out near Lagras to photograph alligators. Turns out Mr. Trelawney knew of Mr. Mason. He was the reason Arthur had found Mr. Trelawney's home. He'd been trying to find Mr. Mason's flat when he heard Mr. Trelawney's voice.

"I'll let him know his Mr. Mason is being reckless again," Mr. Trelawney agreed.

"Thank you, again. And if there's anything you need," Crowley replied.

"I'm sure I'll think of something."

After parting ways with Mr. Trelawney, Crowley headed to Aziraphale's flat.

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale beamed. "Mr. Mason will be delighted to both capture the beauty of the alligators and see Mr. Morgan again."

"I only did this because I can't protect you both. But Mr. Morgan can."

Aziraphale reached out and placed a hand over one of Crowley's. They rarely touched. Nothing more than handing off items to each other. It was rare to engage in physical touch like this. But Aziraphale was touching him, was looking at him with bright blue eyes. Aziraphale hadn't even batted his eyes at him this time and Crowley had still gone out of his way to help him. He mentally cursed his heart again, like he was more opt to do in the last few weeks, the more time he spent with Aziraphale.

After a moment, Aziraphale removed his hand and the stillness between them disappeared. He went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of wine. Another one he'd imported himself. They drank and talked and fell back into their easy interactions, as though the previous moment had never occurred. But Crowley knew it had because he could still feel the warmth from the angel's touch against his skin.

The next day, Mr. Mason rode out to Lagras to try to capture the beauty of alligators. Aziraphale and Crowley followed, letting Mr. Mason enjoy his grand adventure. When they reached the swamps, Mr. Mason set up his camera on the edge of the swamp, camera poised to capture the beauty of any who dared come close enough. Aziraphale and Crowley hung back, watching where they could step in if necessary.

It wasn't necessary. It wasn't long after they'd arrived that a familiar outlaw came riding into view. He dismounted from his horse and walked over to Mr. Mason.

"Okay… this is good. It's G-d's work," Mr. Mason muttered to himself. 

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale who shrugged sheepishly.

"Alright," Mr. Mason muttered to himself, looking through his camera.

"They creep up on you, you know," Arthur said.

Mr. Mason startled and turned to face the other man. "Oh, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur smiled. "How are you?"

"Well sir," Mr. Mason replied, continuing to fiddle with his camera.

"What are you working on?" Arthur's attention was completely on Mr. Mason.

"Do you know anything about alligators?"

"Only the basics… avoid them whenever possible."

"Well, did you know that in the last fifty years we've killed ninety percent?"

"You say that like it makes you sad?"

Mr. Mason looked aghast. "They're beautiful creatures."

Arthur huffed in disbelief. "Let's see how you speak when one of them's got you in a death roll."

"Yes, I will make some creature a very happy lunch one of these days."

"Well, let's try and avoid that from happening today." Arthur grabbed Mr. Mason's bag and took it towards a nearby boat. "Well, you stay there and you'll get a great shot then you'll get eaten."

Mr. Mason put a hand to his chest. "What a way to go."

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a look.

"Why don't we take this boat out and I'll protect you?" Arthur suggested. "Come on… get in the boat, it'll be fine."

"Well…" Mr. Mason grabbed his camera and handed it to Arthur. "…if you really think that's necessary?"

Mr. Mason began climbing into the boat as Arthur followed him.

"You carry on shooting from that bank you're gonna wish them wolves had eaten you." Arthur handed Mr. Mason his camera.

"Really?" Albert hadn't even had a chance to set down his camera yet when Arthur pushed the boat out into the water to get it going and jumped in.

"Yes." Arthur sat down and began rowing them away from the shore. "The ten percent who survived… they're the nasty ones."

Mr. Mason looked around, trying to locate potential places for them to locate alligators. He saw movement farther into the swamp and directed Arthur to them. Crowley and Aziraphale watched from the safety of land. The angel had the bright look in his eyes again as he turned to look at Crowley with a great big smile.

"I… I believe Mr. Mason would be grateful, if he knew you'd made sure Mr. Morgan was here to assist him," Aziraphale said.

"I'm sure he would be," Crowley replied.

They both knew Aziraphale really meant that he was grateful that Crowley had reached out for Mr. Morgan to be there but couldn't actually say it. He couldn't properly thank Crowley without risking Crowley getting into trouble. Same reason that Crowley had to make sure it was Mr. Morgan helping Mr. Mason. It went unspoken between them, as many things did.

They watched as Arthur rowed the little boat around the swamp, stopping at three different locations to allow for Mr. Mason to capture photographs. At one of the stops, Arthur even jumped out of the boat and appeared to coax an alligator out of hiding. Crowley was grateful it was the humans' lives at risk and not his or the angel's.

Once they'd finished capturing magnificent photographs of alligators, Mr. Mason sat for the ride back to shore.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, sir. I really don't. We can congratulate ourselves on a job well done, Mr. Morgan. Take us back where we began," he said.

"Anyway, I hope you got something worth printing," Arthur replied.

"Oh, assuredly. The nation will see these beautiful beasts for what they are…"

"Killing machines?"

Mr. Mason laughed. "No, well, yes… maybe that's not a bad thing. This is America after all… we hold a love for killers that borders on macabre. Loving killers is part of our makeup."

Crowley saw Aziraphale looked in his direction from the corner of his eye. He started to turn a moment but then turned back, watching the humans returning to the bank. Crowley wondered what Aziraphale had maybe meant to do, but decided it was best to leave it.

Arthur rowed them closer to shore. "Maybe, maybe. But usually we wait until after they're dead."

"Well, I hope we've changed."

"Me, too."

That sat in silence as Arthur neared back to their starting position. The angel and demon watched from their hiding spot, wondering what the two humans planned to do next.

"Ah, yes. Dock her here. Just pull up to the bank," Mr. Mason said, as Arthur guided the boat back to shore.

Arthur turned to look at Mr. Mason. "That should do us."

"Yes."

"These pictures you're taking…" Arthur began.

"Yes?" Mr. Mason inquired.

"They gonna be any good?"

"I certainly hope so… though I doubt it. The subject is magnificent, the backdrop jaw dropping but the agent of beauty is a talentless fool. Although, maybe I'll… strike a few lucky shots."

Arthur moved to the opposite end of the boat. "You sure do make me laugh… that way you talk about yourself, Mr. Mason."

Arthur exited the boat. Mr. Mason stood and handed the camera back to Arthur, a reverse of when they'd boarded it.

"Well, I'm good for laughing at, if nothing else," he said.

"I didn't mean it like that." Arthur held the camera in one hand and held out his other to help Mr. Mason off the boat.

"I know…" Mr. Mason looked at Arthur. "Still, I feel such a fool around you, sir."

Arthur looked at Mr. Mason in return, their hands still touching. "Don't worry about it."

After a moment, Mr. Mason pulled his hand away and Arthur handed him back his camera and grabbed his back from the boat.

"I foresaw a many ignominious future for myself, but… never damsel in distress!" Mr. Mason joked.

Arthur chuckled. "Well, I'll…" He paused a moment, trying to find the words he wanted to say. "Good luck, Mr. Mason."

Mr. Mason smiled. "Thank you, and to you too, sir."

Arthur tipped his hat to Mr. Mason. "Try and stay out of trouble."

"I shall certainly try."

Mr. Mason walked over to his horse and began packing his bag and camera back up. Arthur was walking towards his own horse, which had wandered farther away during their trip.

"Crowley, do something," Aziraphale whispered.

"What do you want me to do?" Crowley asked.

"Don't let Mr. Morgan just leave."

With a snap, Crowley froze time and walked over to Mr. Mason. He leaned in and using a temptation, instructed Mr. Mason to invite Arthur to lunch, repayment for yet again helping him with such a dangerous task. Crowley then returned to Aziraphale's side and let time return to normal.

"Mr. Morgan!" Mr. Mason called, turning toward the outlaw.

"Yes?" Arthur called.

"Let me buy you lunch. In town. I owe you again for your help. And I can show you a few more prints. I have a gallery showing coming up."

"I'd like that."

"Excellent."

The two men mounted their horses and rode off together towards Saint Denis.

"I believe I owe you lunch," Aziraphale said.

"A drink or several, at the very least," Crowley replied.

Aziraphale smiled and led Crowley back towards their horses. Crowley wasn't sure how he'd explain that little temptation to downstairs, but it made Aziraphale happy and at the moment, that was all Crowley could ask for. He rode with the angel back to Saint Denis, listening as Aziraphale spoke happily about how everything was working out so wonderfully. Mr. Mason's endeavor would be a success, the gallery showing in Saint Denis would help spark further shows and hopefully secure safety for the many creatures he had photographed. He was so excited and Crowley let that excitement brush against him.


	5. Chapter 5

**July 1899**

Crowley tossed the newspaper on the table in front of Aziraphale and flopped down on the couch.

"A prison break!" he growled. "Satan help me."

Aziraphale picked up the newspaper and read through the article that detailed how two members of the Van der Linde gang had shown up at Sisika Penitentiary and taken out several guards before demanding the release of another member who had been captured during the bank heist a few weeks prior. Both Arthur Morgan and John Marston were named, known associates of Van der Linde. The third member, a woman, had only been a recent addition to the gang, as far as the papers were concerned.

"As if the last month hasn't been enough. The trolley station, the bank heist, the nonsense in Guarma. Now this. I can't, angel."

"They are outlaws," Aziraphale replied. "And it's not like you didn't know that, given that Blackwater was over two years ago."

Crowley groaned. "Has it really been over two years?"

"Yes. For you, at least, given that Mr. Mason and I didn't arrive in West Elizabeth until March 1899."

Crowley hadn't realized how long he'd been in the United States. The fact that he'd already been there for a full year by the time he saw Aziraphale again. The last few months felt like a blur. Especially given all the time he'd been spending with Aziraphale again. Time was different for them anyway, given they were immortal beings. But having Aziraphale by his side, felt like being back home.

"Hell's already sent me two commendations. I can't take another one for this nonsense," Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale set the newspaper done on the table and turned to face the demon. "Well, perhaps it's time for you to return to London."

Crowley frowned.

"Well, my dear boy, you aren't here on assignment and if the association with the Van der Linde gang is upsetting you this much, leaving is the most logical option."

Crowley muttered under his breathe, grumbling about stupid outlaws and their stupid crimes. Aziraphale stood and moved to sit next Crowley on the couch. Crowley obligingly sat up so the angel could sit next to him. Aziraphale pat his leg, letting his hand linger on Crowley's knee.

"Mr. Mason is focusing on his gallery show. You could go back to London, I'll tell him you're getting things set up for him there. And I will promise that we won't go on any more photography adventures. One more month and then we'll be done here. I'll return home and bring Caroline all the photos," Aziraphale said.

Crowley smiled. "Are you trying to protect me, angel?"

"Yes. The Arrangement. Stay out of each other's way. Lend a hand when needed. And I remember what happened after…"

"Spain."

Aziraphale had seen Crowley at his second lowest (the first being his fall, of course) after the Spanish Inquisition had begun. He'd tried to drink himself into oblivion and Aziraphale had been there to keep him afloat. And there was the problem. Crowley had involved himself with Arthur Morgan. Leaving now, would leave Crowley feeling… adrift. Like a… temptation unfulfilled.

"I can't leave, angel," he said.

"Crowley."

"This isn't like that. This is… different."

Aziraphale sighed. "It better be."

Aziraphale pat Crowley's knee again and stood up. Crowley let out a breathe and stood.

"I need a drink." He looked at Aziraphale, who was looking at him from the table. "I'm fine. One drink and maybe a round of poker and I'll come right back."

He didn't wait for Aziraphale to reply, simply grabbed his jacket and glasses and headed out. He walked to La Bastille Saloon and ordered a whiskey, double. He hunkered down at the bar and drank his whiskey. Even though he'd told Aziraphale only one drink, he was thinking of having another, he was a demon after all. Lying was his thing, Aziraphale occasionally reminded him of that, plus the second drink wouldn't affect him the way it would if he were a human. The angel wouldn't have to know. He was about to order a second, when a familiar figure appeared at the bar next to him.

"One whiskey," Arthur ordered.

His voice sounded rough, raw, like he'd been shouting or something. Crowley watched as Arthur drank the whiskey and winced as he swallowed. He coughed after, deep cough that came from his chest.

"Mr. Morgan," Crowley said. "You sound awful."

Arthur looked over at Crowley and after a moment, realization crossed his face. "Mr. Crowley. Been better."

"Sorry to hear it. Surprised to see you in Saint Denis."

"I have… business."

"I bet."

Arthur frowned and ordered a second whiskey. Crowley did the same. After Arthur finished his second whiskey, he coughed again and it sounded worse than the first time. Deep and wet. When Arthur pulled his hand from his mouth, his glove looked wet and he wiped it on his trousers.

"Sounds bad," Crowley said.

"Like I said, I've been better," Arthur replied.

Crowley finished his drink as he watched Arthur leave. The door had only started to shut behind the outlaw when Crowley heard more coughing. He downed the rest of his whiskey and followed Arthur outside. The man was leaning against the building, coughing even harder than he had been inside.

"Mr. Morgan," Crowley said, standing near Arthur who was leaning against the side of the building.

This time, Crowley was close enough to see that when Arthur coughed into his gloved hand, it was bloody. Arthur straightened and wiped his hand on his trousers again.

"I'm… there's nothing that can be done," Arthur said.

"What is it?" Crowley asked.

"I got TB."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well…" Arthur shrugged and kept walking, heading for his horse.

Crowley watched him mount up and ride off. When Arthur's horse disappeared down a side street, Crowley headed back to Aziraphale's flat.

"We have a problem," he said.

"What?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley slouched into the chair at the table across from Aziraphale. "Arthur's dying."

"What?"

Crowley nodded. "Tuberculosis."

"Oh. Oh no."

With a snap, Crowley materialized a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured one for Aziraphale and then drank straight from the bottle. Aziraphale took a drink from the glass.

"We have to do something, angel."

"We can't, Crowley. Neither Heaven nor Hell would appreciate us healing him."

"Not what I meant. Not a miracle. Not like that. What about Mr. Mason?"

"What about Mr. Mason?"

"Angel, please. You've spent more time around him than I have. If I can see it, you have to be able to feel it."

Aziraphale sighed and refilled his wine glass. "I don’t know what you want me to do, Crowley. Yes, Mr. Mason… cares about Mr. Morgan. But he would never act on it. Not any more than he has. This time, this place, the humans wouldn't accept it. Even if he knew Mr. Morgan felt the same way, it would be too risky."

"So, Mr. Morgan does feel the same way?"

Aziraphale sighed. "Yes, he does. But again… neither would act on it. So I don't know what you expect us, expect me to do about it."

Crowley finished the bottle of wine he was holding and snapped another one into existence. Aziraphale used it to refill his glass again before letting Crowley have it.

"How about… one more trip? Something safe, like the horses? One last chance for them to spend time together," Crowley said.

Aziraphale thought a moment. "Oh, well there is the possibility of one more photograph Mr. Mason would like to attempt."

Crowley motioned for Aziraphale to continue.

"He wants to take a photograph of eagles. To display at the London exhibit."

"Eagles?" Crowley asked.

"Bald eagles. National bird of America. He thinks they might be… exciting for the European audiences."

"Bald eagles? Exciting?" Crowley asked, with a laugh.

"Don't laugh. His heart is in the right place. Besides, the trip for the eagles would take them back out into the Heartlands. Away from Saint Denis. Which could be good for Arthur, given current circumstances."

Crowley agreed. The farther from Saint Denis, the better. Being away from the swamps and moist air of Lemoyne would also be good for his lungs.

"I'll speak to Mr. Mason."

Crowley smiled and held the bottle out to Aziraphale in cheers, in lieu of a thank you.

Two days later, Crowley was sitting in La Bastille Saloon waiting and watching as Mr. Mason waited for Arthur to arrive. After Aziraphale had spoken to Mr. Mason, he had agreed to inquire if Mr. Morgan would be willing to escort him to the Heartlands for his last photograph endeavor. Crowley had contacted Mr. Trelawney, since he had no other way to contact Arthur, and Mr. Trelawney promised to contact Arthur. He was supposed to be meeting Mr. Mason but it had almost been an hour and he hadn't shown yet. Crowley was concerned that perhaps Arthur had been captured on his way into town. It wouldn't be impossible, given the number of agents roaming around the coast following the jail break.

Finally, at the hour mark, Arthur walked into the saloon. He looked around, slightly nervous until he spotted Mr. Mason and walked over to the man.

"Mr. Mason," he greeted.

"Mr. Morgan. I'm glad you could make it," Mr. Mason replied.

"Sorry I'm late. There was… Not important. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Yes, please."

Arthur ordered them each a beer and they sat down at a table near the bar. Crowley sipped at his whiskey as he listened in on the conversation.

"How do you know Mr. Crowley?" Arthur asked.

"He's an associate of my benefactor, Mr. Fell. He's helping set up a gallery showing in London for me," Mr. Mason replied.

"And you trust Mr. Fell?"

Crowley frowned. How could anyone not trust Aziraphale?

"Yes. He's been vital to my work. He's funded everything for me and set up the gallery showing here."

Arthur nodded and took a drink from his beer. "Be careful, Mr. Mason."

"I will be. Which is why I requested this meeting. I have one more photograph I'd like to attempt before the photos head to London with Mr. Fell."

"Do you now?"

Mr. Mason nodded. "Eagles."

"Eagles?"

"Yes. They're majestic creatures, seeing them soaring through the air. I spotted some back in the Heartlands. There's a cliff there that I think would be a perfect place to capture their beauty while in flight."

"A cliff? Starting to think you're addicted to danger, Mr. Mason."

"Oh no. I can assure you, I'm not. But I would feel better if you accompanied me."

Arthur smiled. "I can do that."

"Wonderful. I was thinking we could leave tomorrow morning."

"Eager, are ya?" Arthur grinned, laughing. "Yeah, tomorrow morning works."

Mr. Mason grinned. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I'll rent a room here."

"You could stay at my apartment with me. There's an extra bed. Make it easier to leave in the morning."

"I couldn't impose, Mr. Mason."

"Mr. Morgan, I insist."

"Alright. Thank you, Mr. Mason."

"It's the least I could do, considering everything you've done for me."

Crowley finished his whiskey and satisfied with the plans, he left before Arthur or Mr. Mason could notice him. He returned to Aziraphale's flat and informed the angel of the plans to head to the Heartlands in the morning. It would most likely take them two days to reach the cliffs Mr. Mason intended to photograph the eagles from. Aziraphale and Crowley had already decided they would be going, too. To ensure nothing bad happened along the way. They agreed to meet in the morning, ready to leave when Mr. Mason and Arthur left. Crowley returned to his flat and packed up his few items he'd need for the trip. More horse riding, more sleeping out in the world. Civilization had spoiled him.

The next morning, they headed out early shortly after the sun had come up. Mr. Mason was chipper and chatty during most of the ride out of town. Arthur seemed content to listen to his stories of New York and growing up in the city. Arthur shared some of his own stories, growing up after the death of his mother and later his father, how he came to meet Hosea and Dutch. He never came out and said he was an outlaw, but it was clear that Mr. Mason knew, as he spoke in response to many of Arthur's stories. Most surprising was the fact that Mr. Mason didn't seem to mind that Arthur was an outlaw. Crowley was sure he'd seen the newspapers, had to know about the bank heist and jailbreak. And yet… Mr. Mason seemed to see something else in Arthur. Kept calling him a gentleman and saying how kind he was for helping. The demon couldn't help glancing at the angel riding next to him, the parallels between them and their human companions. He appreciated that Aziraphale hadn't commented on them himself.

Their first day had them reaching Dewberry Creek by night fall. They stopped there for the night, setting up camp in an area that Arthur said he'd come upon before, where some German settlers had run into some trouble and Arthur had helped them. Crowley and Aziraphale set up their camp a little farther away, leaving the two humans to their privacy for the night. While Crowley set up the tent, Aziraphale set up their fire.

"Try to get some sleep. I'll stay up and keep watch," he said.

"Angel," Crowley replied.

"I'll be fine."

"I won't be able to sleep with you out here alone."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley and sighed. "Alright. How about I sit and read inside the tent, while you sleep?"

"I don't need to sleep."

"But you do like it. Go on, lay down and I'll come sit with you while I read."

Crowley couldn't argue with the angel on that. He tucked himself into his little makeshift bedroll and blankets in the tent and once he was comfortable, he let the angel know. Aziraphale came into the tent and sat down next to him, his own bedroll and blankets set up so he could sit comfortably. As Crowley closed his eyes to sleep, Aziraphale propped open his book on his lap and began reading. His voice was soft and soothing and soon eased Crowley into sleep.

Aziraphale woke Crowley early the next morning and they quickly packed up their camp to prepare to head out behind Arthur and Mr. Mason. The route took them towards the Twin Stack Pass, where Mr. Mason had previously encountered some eagles when he and Aziraphale had traveled from Valentine. They stopped there and Mr. Mason found an area to set up his camera from and attempt to capture some photographs. Unfortunately, only a few eagles appeared. Arthur suggested they head farther, towards Caliban's Seat, where according to a map he had, eagles were more likely to nest. They made it to the cliffs around evening and camped for the night.

Again Aziraphale sat with Crowley in the tent and read while Crowley slept. The next morning, they lingered at camp, as Mr. Mason had decided that midday would be the best time to attempt to capture photographs of eagles in flight. It left time for the two humans to spend time together during the day, Arthur telling more stories of hunting in nearby areas, for survival purposes he assured Mr. Mason.

Finally, Mr. Mason grabbed his camera and headed up towards a high cliff point where he'd best be able to capture his photographs. Arthur followed shortly behind him, after putting out their campfire. Crowley and Aziraphale stayed near Mr. Mason, out of sight of the two humans but able to witness the on goings.

“Glorious. It’s almost like I’m flying,” Mr. Mason said to himself.

"Mr. Mason!" Arthur called, upon seeing his companion so close to the cliff's edge.

Mr. Mason startled, his hand over his chest and turned to face Arthur. "Mr. Morgan."

"You wanna be careful up here, land is real treacherous." Arthur walked closer to Mr. Mason.

"Sure." Mr. Mason turned back to his camera.

"Real treacherous… I been here before."

"Have you?"

"Yes…" Arthur looked out over the landscape, as though remembering something. "Funny how things turn out… never quite how you expect, is it?"

"No, I don't suppose it is." Mr. Mason turned his attention to Arthur again and smiled. "You know, the images, they really are beautiful all thanks to you. I'd be some poor creature's bad meal by now many times over but for you."

"Well it's my pleasure… b-but please, step away from the cliff edge."

"But I'm trying to get an eagle… they're… they're…" Mr. Mason turned to his camera again and made a motion with his hands, like wings flapping.

"Yeah, they're beautiful but unlike you, they can fly."

Mr. Mason shifted to face Arthur once again. "Too true. You really must think I'm a buffoon, don't you? You think I'm such a dimwit I'd just slip off the edge of a cliff?" He moved again, taking a step closer to the cliff's edge.

"No," Arthur argued. "b-but… well, maybe a little."

"Please, sir…" Mr. Mason turned to Arthur again, still by the cliff's edge. "I'm dense but not that dense. This area is quite safe… quite, quite…" As he spoke, Mr. Mason stomped his foot along the edge where he stood. The rock beneath his feet began to give and he began to slip. "Oh, oh!"

Before Arthur could even attempt to reach him, Mr. Mason disappeared over the edge. Aziraphale snapped his fingers next to Crowley, as Arthur turned away from his friend had just been and cursed.

"Argh… damn!"

Tentatively, Arthur stepped closer to peer over the cliff's edge and found Mr. Mason hanging onto a branch sticking out from the rock face.

"You were right. I am that much of a buffoon. Give me a hand please put me out of my misery."

Arthur knelt down and reached out a hand. "Come here."

Mr. Mason carefully reached up to Arthur's hand and held firmly as the other man pulled him up. He sat there, breathing heavily and holding a hand to his chest again, true fear coursing through his veins at his most recent brush with death.

"Oh, dear. Oh, thank you. You know what…" Mr. Mason stood with Arthur's help. "…bugger the eagles. I'm going home!"

Mr. Mason turned to his camera and began packing it all back up again.

"You know, I really did get some amazing pictures thanks to you and somehow I haven't quite broken my neck."

"Well, I couldn't exactly leave you out here to die, now could I?"

"No, I suppose you couldn't." Mr. Mason looked down sheepishly as he gathered his equipment. "Sorry for all the trouble."

"No trouble at all. I've liked our time together."

Mr. Mason smiled at that. He and Arthur began the walk back towards their camp. Crowley turned to Aziraphale.

"That was quick thinking, angel," Crowley said.

"Well, after everything, I couldn't let him die," Aziraphale replied.

"Let's head back to camp."

After the exciting events of the day, it was decided by Mr. Mason and Arthur, that they would travel to Valentine and take the train back to Saint Denis. It would cause them to stay the night in town, renting rooms at the hotel but Mr. Mason agreed it was safer since his nerves were still a bit shaken after his near death experience on the cliff.

"So, what happens next?" Crowley asked, sitting on the edge of the bed in the room he and Aziraphale rented.

"Well, we go back to Saint Denis. There's the gallery opening. And then… I believe Mr. Mason will be returning to New York. I was going to accompany him and then take a boat back to England from there. Ensure he returns home safely and make sure all of the photographs make it to Caroline safely," Aziraphale replied.

"Right. Suppose I'll be traveling with you. I mean… not with you… but make sure you make it back to London safely."

Aziraphale smiled. "I suppose so."

Crowley nodded. He'd long ago accepted that there was no escaping his feelings for Aziraphale nor the angel himself. If the angel was going to travel back to London, Crowley would be there to keep him safe. It was what he did. What he'd been doing, since before the Bastille. What he would continue to do for years to come. Poor, foolish, demon heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**August 1899**

Crowley and Aziraphale stood at the edge of the hillside clearing, watching as Mr. Mason paid his respects to Arthur Morgan.

It had only been two weeks ago that they'd seen him, on the endeavor for the eagles. His illness had been wearing on him but not enough to impede him during the trip. A lot had happened in those two weeks. The papers were reporting that Arthur had died during the raid on the Van der Linde gang's hideout in Beaver Hollow. According to Mr. Trelawney and another of Arthur's associates, Charles Smith, he'd died from his illness. He'd simply pushed himself too far. Mr. Smith had buried Arthur per his wishes, on a hillside facing the evening sun. He'd been kind enough to provide Crowley with the location, so Mr. Mason could say goodbye. Apparently, Arthur had mentioned Mr. Mason to Mr. Smith, because apparently Mr. Trelawney's word that Crowley was trustworthy was only so good. But when Mr. Smith found out it was for Mr. Mason, he'd gladly provided the details and had even offered to escort Mr. Mason himself.

Mr. Mason knelt down by the grave marker Mr. Smith had carved. His fingers traced over the engraving which read 'Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness' Mr. Mason let out a broken sob and held his hand to his face as he cried.

Crowley wiped a tear away from under his dark glasses.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered.

"Don't, angel."

Aziraphale's hand brushed against his, a quick little sign that he was there, if Crowley needed. Crowley shook his head. He'd barely known Arthur. Certainly not well enough to miss the man, now that he was… dead. Not like Mr. Mason, who had shared much more time and conversation than Crowley had with the outlaw.

"Angel?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale looked up at him.

"Arthur was a good man," he whispered, "wasn't he?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, he was."

It was all Crowley could ask in that moment. Every good dead he'd seen Arthur do. Every person he'd helped. Even from the very beginning, from the first encounter Crowley had with him. He had been an outlaw, but he'd also been a good man. He deserved better than whatever Hell would offer him.

"Goodbye, Mr. Mor... Arthur. Thank you. For… for everything," Mr. Mason said, hand resting against Arthur's name on the grave marker. "I won't ever forget you."

He stayed there for several minutes, mourning the companion, the friend, that he had loved and lost. The angel and demon watched, letting him mourn as long as he needed. They'd both lost people, humans they'd befriended during their long lives on Earth.

Finally, Mr. Mason stood and put his hat back on. He turned to his companions and wiped the tears from his face. He glanced once more back at the grave.

"Would it be terrible of me to want a photograph?" he asked.

"Not at all," Aziraphale replied. "Here, let's go fetch your camera."

Aziraphale led Mr. Mason back to where they'd left the horses, by the abandoned hill house at the end of the path. Crowley stayed and once they were farther down the path, he stepped over to the grave and looked down at it.

"We didn't really know each other, but you…" Crowley sighed. "Doesn't matter what I think. But you deserved better."

He touched the top of the grave marker and the yellow and red flowers surrounding the base of the marker blossomed and bloomed, giving the grave a more full, cared for look. Perfect for Mr. Mason's photograph. Crowley stepped back to where he'd been standing previously and waited for Mr. Mason and Aziraphale to return.

"New York is so far away and…" Aziraphale was saying, as they walked back up the path.

"He was an outlaw. Who knows if this will even still be here in a year or five," Mr. Mason replied.

"Yes. Unfortunately. You can keep his memory alive, through this and the other photograph."

Mr. Mason set up his camera and photographed the grave. He moved the camera closer and captured a couple of photographs of the words on the grave marker. He stood again for several minutes, staring down at the grave as tears fell from his eyes again. Finally, he turned back to his companions.

"Thank you," he said.

"Of course. Whatever you need, Mr. Mason," Aziraphale said.

Mr. Mason nodded. He took down his camera again and the three of them headed back down the path. From the abandoned hill house, they road towards Bacchus Station. The station didn't have a station clerk, as it was only used for freight, but the train had stopped to release the three passengers earlier and the incoming train would stop to pick them up again. Even if they didn't know why. From there, they took the train to Van Horn where a boat would take them back to Saint Denis, and from there they'd take a ferry to New York.

It was while waiting at the docks for the ferry to New York, that Mr. Mason turned to his two companions, his benefactors as far as he knew and an idea struck him.

"Might I take your photograph, gentlemen?" he asked. "After everything you've done for me."

"Oh… well…" Aziraphale looked to Crowley who gave a brief nod. "I suppose so."

"Wonderful."

Mr. Mason set up his camera, right there on the dock. "Stand together, please, gentlemen."

Aziraphale moved to stand closer to Crowley, standing so he was turned towards Crowley. The demon matched his pose, so they were both turned slightly towards the other. Mr. Mason captured a photograph of them. As he prepared to capture the next one, Crowley linked his arm with Aziraphale's, their elbows joined and Aziraphale looked at him with a smile as the flash went off.

"Excellent," Mr. Mason remarked.

Aziraphale stepped away from Crowley and smiled at Mr. Mason. "I hope that will do."

"Yes. Thank you. I'll be sure to provide you a copy, once it's developed."

Mr. Mason put his camera away again and soon the ferry to New York arrived. It was a three days journey to New York. Mr. Mason bid them farewell at the dock upon arrival and headed back to his home. Aziraphale and Crowley, with the copies of Mr. Mason's photographs for Caroline's gallery, waited for the ship to England. It was a long trip across the ocean but it gave the angel and demon plenty of time together. Even with a ship full of people around them, the ocean was technically “no man’s land” but the Almighty’s and all her glorious sea creatures. Crowley and Aziraphale would stroll along the ship deck, talking and enjoying each other’s company before they would be returned home and things would be different. As Crowley stood, leaning against the deck railing and looking out over the ocean, he glanced at Aziraphale, who was standing next to him, enjoying the cool morning breeze.

“I lied,” Crowley said, half expecting the angel to answer with some form of “obviously you’re a demon” line, but when the angel simply looked at him, he continued. “Back at St. James Park. When I said I didn’t need you. I lied. I did… I do need you.”

“So did I,” Aziraphale replied. He stepped closer to Crowley, leaning on the railing next to Crowley. “I can’t lose you. I was so afraid that I had until you showed up that day in the woods. I know I shouldn’t have, but I hoped so dearly that it wouldn’t be the only time. And I’m glad it wasn’t.”

“Can’t get rid of me, angel. Clearly. I came all the way to America, on holiday to lick my wounds after our fight. Pretend that I could live fine without you. Ridiculous to even think I ever could.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s arm and the two looked at each other, both knowing what the other wasn’t saying with words. What they couldn’t say. Not yet.

It was the only time they spoke of that fight for the rest of the trip home. Crowley knew things weren’t going to be perfect between them, but it was better.

After finally returning home, Crowley slept for a month. When he woke up again, he went to see Aziraphale and the two went to the gallery to see Mr. Mason's works on display. Crowley stared at the photograph of Arthur Morgan for several minutes, until Aziraphale drew his attention. They continued through the gallery, viewing many of the other photographs on display before leaving the exhibit. Aziraphale led them to St. James Park and they walked together, talking together. Aziraphale filled him in on all the things he'd missed over the last month and Crowley smiled, grateful yet again for the angel's company.

**42 Years Later…**

**February 1941**

_Crowley stood in the bombed out remains of the church, polishing his dark glasses as dust settled around he and Aziraphale._

_"That was very kind of you," the angel said._

_"Shut up," Crowley replied._

_"Well, it was. No paperwork, for a start." Realization dawned on Aziraphale's face. "The books! I forgot all the books! They'll have been blown to…"_

_Crowley reached down and grabbed the handle of the leather bag from the dead Nazi's hand. He handed it to Aziraphale._

_"Little demonic miracle of my own," he said. "Lift home?"_

Crowley stood by the Bentley, waiting for Aziraphale to join him. The angel was still processing that Crowley had saved his beloved books. And something else that neither of them was ready to name. Crowley would wait. Slowly, Aziraphale walked over to join him.

"Is this yours?" he asked, indicating the car.

"Yes. Bought it brand new back in 1926. Fantastic invention, cars. So much better than horses, for one."

Crowley grinned at Aziraphale, who shook his head.

"I didn't know you could drive," the angel said.

"I became very invested in horseless carriages following our return from American. Never wanted to ride another horse ever again, if I could help it." Crowley opened the passenger door for Aziraphale. "In you go, angel."

Aziraphale climbed into the car, giving Crowley a soft smile in thanks. Crowley shut the door and went around to the driver's side, easily sliding into the driver's seat.

"To the bookshop," he said.

"Yes. Please."

Crowley started the car and began driving. Aziraphale startled a moment, surprised by the speed as Crowley took off through the London streets.

"Nazis, though. Really, angel?" Crowley asked, trying to make conversation.

"I thought I was working with the good guys. I had originally turned them down, before…"

"Before you were tricked," Crowley interjected.

"Yes."

"Oh, angel." Crowley shook his head. "And here I thought the jaunt with the wolves was one of your worst ideas."

Aziraphale hugged. "As I recall, the incident with the wolves turned out fine."

"Yeah," Crowley glanced at the angel, "no thanks to me and Mr. Morgan."

Aziraphale frowned. "How did you find me, anyway?"

"I have a little warning system whenever you're about to do something idiotic," Crowley replied.

The frown turned into a scowl. "Really, Crowley."

"Fine. I actually was working with British Military Intelligence. I heard word about your little meeting and knew I had to do something."

"What could you possibly be doing working with British Military Intelligence?"

"Doesn't matter."

Silence filled the Bentley.

"Whatever did happen to Mr. Mason?" Crowley asked, as they neared the bookshop.

"Oh. He became a very successful photographer. Mostly wildlife, despite the incident with the eagles. But people as well. Traveled all over to take photographs and display them at many galleries between the United States and Great Britain. He eventually retired and returned to the Ambarino area. Lived in a home not far from where Mr. Morgan was buried. He passed away a few years back from pneumonia. I heard he was buried next to Mr. Morgan."

"Mr. Morgan's remains are still there?"

"Oh yes. Mr. Mason ensured they were kept in his final resting place. Per his wishes. Most people have forgotten Mr. Morgan. Any of his old associates long since dead. But Mr. Mason kept his memory alive for the rest of his days."

Crowley nodded. He pulled the Bentley up to the curb in front of the bookshop.

"Well, here we are," he said.

"Yes. Thank you. For… everything."

"Don't mention it."

Aziraphale nodded and started to exit the car.

"You know, I still have a copy of the photograph that Mr. Mason took of us," he said, turning back to Crowley. "If you'd like to see it."

"I'd like that."

Crowley turned off the car and climbed out. He followed Aziraphale inside the bookshop and they tucked themselves away in the backroom. Crowley removed his hat and glasses, leaving them on the table while Aziraphale dug through his files. While he searched for the photograph, Crowley pulled out a bottle of wine for them and poured them each a glass.

"Here." Aziraphale handed the photograph to Crowley.

It was the two of them, standing on the dock in Saint Denis as they waited for the ferry to New York. It was the one where Crowley had linked their arms together, a brief bit of bravery. He smiled at the photograph.

"You can keep that one," the angel said.

"Are you sure?"

Aziraphale nodded. Crowley looked at the photograph again before tucking it away in the inside pocket of his jacket. He picked up his glass of wine and took a drink. Aziraphale sat in his chair across from the couch Crowley was reclined on and began telling him about some customer he'd had a few weeks back who had been absolutely insistent that he was going to buy Aziraphale's prized copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Crowley listened and laughed as Aziraphale spoke, glad for how easy it was for them to fall into their usual routine.

**78 Years Later…**

**December 2019**

In a cottage in the South Downs, tucked away in the bedroom of a demon and angel, sat a photograph in a gold inlaid frame. The photograph depicted the angel and demon standing together, arms linked, as they stood on a dock waiting for a ferry. The photograph had been taken in 1899 by the soon to be famous photographer Albert Mason. It was one of the first items that Crowley had placed on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Aziraphale had smiled fondly at it before kissing Crowley.

The spring and summer of 1899 had brought them closer together. Though it had still taken the world nearly ending before they'd finally confessed their feelings for each other. Two months after that, they'd moved to a cottage in the South Downs to live together, now that neither of them had to worry about their old sides bothering them. Crowley had placed the photograph by his besides as a reminder of how fiercely he loved his angel and how he'd do almost anything to protect him.

Now, they would protect each other. Now they would face down whatever might come for them, together. On their own side.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on tumblr [@5ftjewishcactus](https://5ftjewishcactus.tumblr.com/) or on twitter on my main [@5ftjewishcactus](https://twitter.com/5ftjewishcatus) or on my sfw gen fandom [@2ambiace](https://twitter.com/2ambiace) or my dbh [@asexualhankcon](https://twitter.com/asexualhankcon).


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